We'll Burn That Bridge When We Come To It
by KissMyAssthma13
Summary: Two friends are separated soon after meeting, one being sent to the Nativitas Academy for elemental benders while the other, a non-bender, is left behind. But he refuses to let go without a fight and swears to do whatever it takes to get himself into that academy, bender or not. However, a dark secret lies underneath the Nativitas Academy, just waiting for the day of its awakening.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own ATLA. If I did, these two would be the best of friends, then the best of boyfriends, then all that lovey-dovey-happily-ever-after schtick.**

* * *

Zuko honestly can't fathom why he has to endure spending a whole 'nother year in this school. He's a firebender, and he deserves to attend the Nativitas Academy just like any other bender. Just like Azula. He scowls, and the look seems misplaced on his young face of only seven years old. Of course, those who know Zuko—perhaps even those who don't—would say that one would be hard-pressed to find him sporting any other facial expression.

Zuko sits quietly at the edge of the playground, knees drawn up to his chest, aimlessly drawing designs and shapes in the dirt with a stick he'd found nearby. He doesn't mind the solitude though, prefers it, actually. Recess is the one time during the day where he can get away from those other snot-eating kids. Zuko sighs, already knowing he'll hate the rest of the year despite the fact that it's only the second day of school.

He etches out a small fire emblem on the ground as thoughts and fantasies flood his mind. Thoughts of leaving this school, fantasies of finally fulfilling his full potential as a firebender, hopes of making his father and mother proud, of—

"Whatcha drawin'?" a voice pipes up from beside his right ear.

"GAH!" Zuko will deny later any arm flailing that takes place or that he'd been taken by surprise, but for right now, he can only scowl to cover up his embarrassment at being caught off guard.

The boy laughs, though it's not unkindly, and plops down next to Zuko. "Sorry," he apologizes with a smile. Zuko glares at him but he seems unfazed, leaning over to peer at what Zuko had previously been occupied with. "What's that?" he asks curiously, pointing a finger at the fire symbol.

Zuko, forgetting his ire for a moment, gapes at the other boy in disbelief. "Do you really not know?" he eventually says.

The other boy just blinks at him.

Finding his voice, Zuko rights himself and scoots away from the boy. "It's the crest of the firebenders."

The boy, not seeming to get that Zuko wants absolutely nothing to do with him, only scoots closer to him—closer than before, even. "Really?" he breathes, eyes wide as he inspects the crest. "I've seen the one for waterbenders but I've never really looked at the fire one 'fore. I'm not a waterbender though. Are you a firebender? I don't know a lot about other—"

"Do you ever shut up?" Zuko asks, which isn't what he meant to say at all. He meant to tell the other boy to _go away and leave him alone._ He can say that now. The other boy seems to have shut up for the moment—

"No, not really," the boy replies easily with a small shrug. "My Gran-Gran's always telling me I've got a big mouth too. But I think she means that I eat a lot. I love eating. Meat is—"

"I don't care," says Zuko, going back to scratching at the dirt with his stick, stubbornly resolving to just ignore the other boy altogether. Maybe that'll make him go away. But it seems that Zuko is being ignored just as well, though not quite so intentionally.

"—the best thing ever. And fish. My dad fishes a lot—it's his job, actually," he informs Zuko with no small amount of pride lacing his voice. "My dad's great. He's tough and strong and one day I'm gonna be just like him. And I'll be strong 'nuff t' protect my baby sister. She's not really a baby though—"

Zuko groans aloud, resigning himself to his fate of having his ear talked off. To death, even. "What do you want?" he snaps, interrupting the other boy's blathering.

He just beams at him and offers a hand out to him. "I'm Sokka."

Zuko's eyes flicker from the boy's face to his outstretched hand, then back to his face, a single eyebrow arched on his forehead. The boy seems to falter for a second, uncertainty flashing behind his blue eyes—blue like the ocean, Zuko can't help but compare, banishing the thought as suddenly as it'd come—but he doesn't relent. Just keeps smiling.

And Zuko isn't sure what possesses him to reach out and grab that hand and shake it, but he does. "Zuko," he grunts, snatching his hand away when the boy's smile only grows, averting his eyes quickly.

"So do ya wanna play wi' me?" Sokka inquires, hope shining in his eyes.

"I don't _play,_" Zuko mutters, still not looking up, missing the way Sokka seems to deflate, like a cake that's been underbaked.

"Oh." But it doesn't take long for Sokka to bounce back. "So ya never answered my other question. You a firebender? I know lotsa benders—well, they're all mostly waterbenders—er, only waterbenders—but it's still cool, I guess."

"Um," Zuko starts articulately. "Yes."

Sokka's eyes widen with something like awe and Zuko can't help but feel his chest swell slightly with pride. "No way!" Sokka exclaims, practically vibrating on the spot now. "C'n ya show me some tricks?" he requests excitedly.

At this, Zuko's ego shrinks just the tiniest bit. "Um, I don't . . . I dunno any," he admits begrudgingly.

"Oh," Sokka says, just the tiniest bit of disappointment tingeing his tone, but he shrugs it off. "That's okay. I hear bending is hard." Zuko only grunts, though it's hard to interpret whether it's an agreement or simply an acknowledgment. Then something seems to occur to Sokka. "Hey. Why aren't ya at that fancy pantsy school for benders?"

Zuko, having warmed up enough to just tolerate the other boy's presence, tenses up immediately and jabs the stick harshly into the ground. "I dun'wanna talk about it," he grumbles.

Sokka frowns, unsure of what he'd said that put his new friend in such a sour mood. "But how else are ya gonna learn t' firebend?" he asks innocently, truly baffled as to why Zuko's here and not there, at the school with that really weird name he can't ever seem to remember. "I thought all benders went there. My sister goes there 'cause she's a waterbender. I miss her sometimes, a lot, but my parents and Gran-Gran say she has to go 'cause benders could really hurt someone if they didn't learn how t' use their powers right." Sokka seems to consider something. "But you wouldn't do that, right, Zuko? You wouldn't hurt me." The last part is said with finality, Sokka answering his own question without waiting for Zuko's reply.

And maybe that's a good thing. Because Zuko isn't sure how he's supposed to answer something like that.

The bell rings, signalling the end of recess, and Zuko abruptly finds himself being dragged up and towards the school entrance by a warm, firm grip on his elbow. "H-Hey!" he protests, more out of shock than anything else.

"C'mon! You can sit next to me in class!" Sokka says, smiling so widely—he seems to do that a lot, Zuko notices, though he can't figure out what there could possibly be to smile about—that Zuko can't find it in him to say no.

Plus, deep down, maybe a little part of him doesn't want to. And now that's something _else _he can't quite understand either.

* * *

The next day at recess, Zuko automatically trudges back over to what he's insofar claimed as his spot on the playground. On the edge of it. Whatever. Sokka's not there. But it's not like he cares. 'Cause he doesn't. At all.

One day of talking to the other boy—though he was lucky to get a word in edgewise, so it was more like he sat and listened and tried not to smile every time Mr. Kato got on Sokka for interrupting his lesson—didn't suddenly make them best friends. Zuko wasn't even sure how to be a _friend _in general.

So it's fine, he tells himself as he stabs the ground repeatedly with his stick. It's not like he even likes Sokka and his stupid blue eyes and his stupid weird ponytail and his stupid laugh or anything.

"What'd the ground do to _you_?"

"GAH!" Zuko drops the stick mid-stab, scrambling back a couple of feet. "Stop _doing _that."

Sokka just grins, grabbing the stick and taking up his spot beside Zuko—which is undoubtedly his spot now, no one can tell him otherwise—and starting to twirl it between his little fingers. Or trying to. His tongue peeks out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, Zuko simply watching the other boy as he fumbles with the stick. Gets frustrated with it. Then breaks it.

"Hey!" Zuko exclaims. "That was my stick!" Honestly, he doesn't care about the stick. But he feels like he had to say _something. _The stick _was _still in his possession only a few moments ago.

"Pfft, I can get you a whole 'nother one that'll be way better than this 'un," Sokka scoffs, tossing away the broken, twiggy halves.

Zuko rolls his eyes, settling back into his position of having his knees tucked under his chin. But now that he's stickless, he's not sure what to do with his hands. So he begins fiddling with a blade of grass. "You didn't find any other friends t' play with?" Zuko grumbles, the words coming out before he can even stop them, and if people could die from embarrassment, Zuko would be dead twelve times over.

Studiously avoiding any eye contact with Sokka, Zuko doesn't notice the way the other boy brightens up, obviously pleased by the prospect that Zuko had missed him. Maybe. He's really not sure. Zuko's hard to read.

"Nah," says Sokka, leaning back onto his hands and legs sprawled out in front of him, "they're not like you."

Zuko almost thinks that the other boy is mocking him, but one glance at Sokka's face proves that he's serious. Zuko's face heats up but he adamantly ignores it. "What's so great 'bout me?" he mumbles, voice muffled by his arm as he rests his chin on the crook of an elbow.

Sokka beams at this. "Lotsa things!" he replies immediately, and Zuko raises a skeptical eyebrow at him. "You're really nice, even if ya don't like t' show it, and you can firebend, and your eyes are really cool, and you're secretly funny sometimes, and your hair looks really soft too!" As Sokka talks, Zuko begins to think that the other boy's mistaken him for somebody else completely, though that doesn't stop him from blushing profusely under the praise. Then Sokka's reaching out a hand and running it through Zuko's inky hair. The latter absolutely freezes, unsure of how to handle this situation. "And it feels really soft too," Sokka comments eventually, his voice going soft, and now Zuko _really _doesn't know how to handle this.

So he does the first thing he can think of.

Namely, yank on Sokka's ponytail and take off running.

"H-Hey!" Sokka squawks, surprise morphing into indignance. He jumps onto his feet and takes chase after the other boy. "You can't yank on a warrior's wolf tail like that!"

Zuko's steps falter and he almost trips, unbidden laughter bubbling up from his throat. "Warrior wolf tail?" he repeats over his shoulder between giggles, racing past the swing set.

"_Yes, _warrior wolf tail! That's what it's called!" Sokka shouts, steadily gaining on Zuko.

"Looks like a ponytail t' me!" Zuko quips, jumping over the legs of a young girl lying on the ground.

"Get back here and say tha' t' mah fa—OOMPH!" Unfortunately, Sokka doesn't seem to possess the agility and grace that Zuko has because he absolutely trips over the girl's legs, landing in a tangled heap on the ground while the girl wails at him to watch where he's going.

Zuko comes trotting back, the biggest smile on his face and cheeks flushed from running as he peers down at Sokka on the ground. The other boy groans, rolling onto his back and throwing an arm over his face.

"Ow."

Zuko giggles, offering a hand out to the other boy, who takes it gratefully. Only to pull Zuko down with him and begin tickling him furiously.

Zuko squeals—and at one time he might've found it in him to be embarrassed that he's capable of making such a sound, but right now, he can't care less—and struggles desperately to get out of Sokka's grasp.

"No, Sokka, that—" His shriek turns into one of laughter, finally managing to break away from Sokka's Evil Fingers and rolling onto his feet to escape their clutches.

Sokka's not far behind, growling and threatening to tickle him to death, wiggling his fingers for effect. When he does eventually catch up to Zuko, he tackles him to the ground, but doesn't do much else, too exhausted to draw up the energy to carry out his earlier threats.

Zuko huffs a laugh, pushing the other off him, and Sokka rolls onto the ground beside Zuko. But they don't stray far from each other, staying close enough for their shoulders and arms to just be brushing against one another.

Sokka turns to look at Zuko, who catches him staring, and then they both burst into another fit of breathy giggles.

As they lay there, staring up at the sky and pointing out the different shapes in the clouds, Zuko wonders why he's never tried this friend thing before. Friends are nice to have. Really, really nice.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'd like to point out right now, in case there's any confusion later on, that this is, in fact, a modern AU. With benders. And the four nations. And there may be parts that don't make sense—plot holes and such—but, y'know, just, um, take this all with a grain o' salt, y'know? Suspension of disbelief? All that jazz. I mean, it's not like I'm not gonna put any effort into explaining how a modern ATLA world would work. It just might not be . . . good. Yeah. Um.**

**So! Another chapter of kiddie!Sokka and kiddie!Zuko. There'll probably be another one—but only _one _more. Then Sokka will grow up into the sarcastic, sexist, meat-loving, brilliant-yet-completely-idiotic dolt we know and love, and Zuko will become that hunky firebending prick who's actually not that dickish but shhh, that's a secret for now.**

**Still though. I mean, c'mon. Just—c'mon. Can you deny the cuteness that is these two?**

**Even if you find my writing absolutely horrid, you just cannot deny that the thought of a seven-year-old Sokka and a seven-year-old Zuko are not friggin' adorable.**

**You just can't.**

**Or maybe you can. I dunno.**

**But if you do, I call SACRILEGE.**

**Oh, and I fixed that blip about Katara. I realized that if Sokka's seven and his sister isn't even born yet, they'd have a seven-year age difference. And I'm pretty sure it was only one in the show. One and a half maybe.**

**So, uh, oops.**

* * *

"Y'gonna eaff thaff?"

"You're gross," Zuko says with a grimace at the unwanted view of semi-digested food, pushing the rest of his lunch over towards Sokka (he's not feeling very hungry today, really). To which Sokka simply rejoinders with a smile and a "thanf!"

Sokka swallows, forcing the ginormous lump of his chewed bacon and tuna sandwich—he doesn't care what anyone says, that stuff is delicious—down his esophagus before speaking again. "Whassa matter?" he asks, mustering up as much concern as a seven-year-old can, even going so far as to put his sandwich down, reluctant as he is to do so.

Zuko just harumphs, folding his arms atop the lunch table and burying his face in them. "'S nothing," he answers, but Sokka has a hard time believing him.

Sokka's usually pretty good at keeping his nose out of things, if he does say so himself. He knows when to stop prying and change the subject, and he also knows when to just shut up and let another person talk. But he put his sandwich down for this, so he's not gonna just sit here while Zuko mopes for nothing.

"Zuko."

No reaction.

"Zukooo."

A grunt. Good, progress.

"Zuko. Hey, Zuko." Sokka decides to throw a poke to the arm in the mix, 'cause why not?

"Leave m'alone, Sokka."

Sokka pouts, dropping his hand and sniffling loudly. "Okay, fine," he warbles, voice wavering in that way that always softens up his dad and gets him to agree to whatever it is that Sokka wants (it doesn't work on Mom or Gran-Gran though, those two are tough).

Zuko peeks out from the shelter of his arms, stealing a quick glance at the other boy with his trembling lower lip and shiny eyes, before making a noise of defeat and sitting up to glower at him. "Fiiine," he groans.

Sokka perks up immediately, grabbing his sandwich and digging into it once more as he settles in to listen.

A lot of people think being a warrior means being all tough and strong and showing no weakness—and it is! But it also means being smart about things and, sometimes, breaking out the kicked-puppy eyes to get information out of people.

Like right now, for instance.

"You're such a baby," Zuko says, but there's no real heat belying his words.

"Not as big a baby as you," Sokka retorts.

"I'm not a baby!"

"Baby!"

"Idiot!"

"Mopey McMopesterton!"

"Vacuum hose!"

There's a pregnant pause that consists of Sokka simply blinking and trying to process what he'd just heard. Then more blinking. And more processing. Before finally—

"BWAHAHA, _vacuum hose?_" He clutches his belly as he bends forward to thump a fist against the table, body wracking with laughter and lunch momentarily forgotten. "Vacu—_Vacuum hose!_"

"It's—It's 'cause you eat so much!" Zuko tries to explain, frustrated that his insult didn't garner the reaction he'd been looking for. "Y'know, like—like a vacuum!" Sokka only laughs harder. Zuko scowls, crossing his arms against his chest and slouching in his seat. "Fine," he grouses, "I _won't _tell you anything."

This sobers Sokka up pretty speedily and he goes back to staring at Zuko imploringly, ready to recommence lip-wobbling and voice-wavering all over again. But he doesn't have to, because Zuko's already begun talking. Though he doesn't look at Sokka, just picks at a napkin lying on the table as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

Sokka begins wondering if he should be jealous of a napkin. Then Sokka wonders why he cares when he's got a bacon and tuna sandwich waiting for him.

"—letter from my sister yesterday."

Oh, rats. Sokka wasn't paying attention. This happens more often than not. Just—Just repeat what was said, that usually works. "A letter?" Why not just call home? He files that question away for later. Though, knowing Sokka, that file will just be misplaced in his sea of misplaced thought-files, never to be seen again.

Zuko nods, tearing the napkin into neat little strips now. "She talked a lot about the things they're learning. Firebending especially," he whispers almost inaudibly, "and Father keeps—"

"Wait," Sokka interrupts suddenly. "You have a sister?"

Zuko levels him with an impatient _yes, I said that two sentences ago, keep up, Sokka _look.

"Why didn't ya ever tell me?"

Zuko shrugs stiffly, his face guarded. "What's there to tell?"

Sokka gapes openly at him, unable to comprehend how one can be so blasé about having a little sister. He tells practically everybody he knows about his own!

"So what's her name?" Sokka finds himself asking. "How old is she? Is she a firebender too? Does she go to this school? Is she as pretty as you? What's she—"

"I—I'm not _pretty!_" Zuko sputters indignantly, expression aghast and face coloring. "Sokka, none of that—" Zuko cuts himself off with a noise of frustration. He gazes at Sokka with this look in his eyes, a look that Sokka just knows shouldn't be on a seven-year-old's face—shouldn't be on _Zuko's _face—and he mentally kicks himself.

_Stupid, _he tells himself, _stupid, stupid, stupid. Just shut up. Shut up. Stop _talking _for once._

But before he can apologize, or say anything, really, Zuko's pushing his chair back, its legs screeching loudly even in the buzz of noise and chatter, then storming off. "I'm going to the restroom," he tosses over his shoulder. And just as Sokka's getting up to go after him, he follows it with a cold, hard, "Alone."

Sokka slumps back into his seat, a tightness in his chest that he doesn't understand nor really like. He picks absentmindedly at his bacon and tuna sandwich, not finding it quite so appetizing anymore.

* * *

When the bell rings for recess, Zuko's the first one out of the room and Sokka doesn't know what in the world he's supposed to do.

Zuko had sat next to him in class, just like always, and that's good. Really good. But he didn't talk. And he didn't smile once. And it's kind of bumming Sokka out. He doesn't even know if Zuko will wanna hang out with him during recess. He wants to think that if he goes out there and apologizes and promises that he'll use Mr. Kato's tape to keep his mouth shut so Zuko can say what he was gonna say in the cafeteria earlier, then it'd all be okay again. But if it isn't . . .

He sighs and, for the first time since the second day of school, really doesn't look forward to recess, reluctantly dragging his feet out to the playground.

Zuko's not there.

Their spot is empty and Sokka's mood dampens even more as he decides to just go over there anyway. Why bother trying to talk to other kids if the best one out of all of them doesn't wanna talk to him?

He flops unceremoniously on the ground, sitting with his legs criss-crossed, elbows on knees, and head in hands.

Well, this sucks.

He boredly observes a roly-poly crawl across the ground, poking it with his finger to watch it curl up into a little ball, and he strongly wishes he could do that too. Just roll up into a tight, little ball and block out the world, the sad feelings, the . . . everything.

"Here."

He jumps, startled by the voice and turns to find himself face-to-face with a flower. "Um—"

"My mom says that the best way to say sorry is to give flowers," Zuko mumbles above him, right foot scuffing the dirt and cheeks tinted pink. "So . . . here." He thrusts the red petals more pointedly into Sokka's face, still avoiding his gaze.

Sokka's just utterly perplexed because what in the world is _Zuko _sorry for? Sometimes, Sokka wonders if maybe his stupid really is rubbing off on Zuko like the firebender often claims.

Zuko stands there, fidgeting uncomfortably and unsure what to do. On the one hand, Sokka hasn't taken the fire lily, torn its petals off, and thrown them back into Zuko's face yet. On the other hand, _Sokka hasn't taken the fire lily yet._

Spirits, maybe this whole idea was stupid, Zuko doesn't know what he's doing here, it's not like—

"_Oomph!_"

Sokka buries his face into the other's shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around him. "You're not allowed t' stop talkin' t' me ev'r again, 'kay?" he murmurs into Zuko's shirt.

_You're not the boss of me, _is what Zuko should say. _You can't tell me what to do. _But all that comes out is a small, "Okay."

Sokka pulls back to look at Zuko, face serious in a way the latter hasn't ever seen in the former's face in the three months they've known each other. "Even when you're mad, okay?"

"Okay," Zuko promises, and he means it.

Then it's like a curtain is lifted and Sokka's expression brightens once more, complete with face-splitting smile. "Great!" Then he lets go of Zuko completely to snatch away the forgotten flower in his hand. "What kinda flower is it?"

"Um, uh," Zuko scratches his head, disoriented for some baffling reason, "it's a fire lily."

"No way! I've heard of these!" Sokka says before shoving his nose into the flower's middle and inhaling deeply. Only to sneeze loudly and mucous-y right after. "Smells nice," he sniffs, wiping snot from his nose.

Zuko grimaces, parroting his statement from earlier in the lunchroom. "You're gross."

Sokka just grins, slugs him in the shoulder, and dashes off. "Last one to the monkey bars is a dirty diaper!"

"H-Hey! That's cheating, you diaper eater!" And then Zuko's right on the other's heels.

"I don't think that's how the chant goes, Zuko!"

"Just shut up and run, _diaper eater!_"

Zuko reaches the monkey bars first, but it's only 'cause Sokka let him. Zuko doesn't need to know that though.

They flop onto the ground right there, ignoring the complaints of the other kids swinging and climbing above. They don't talk, but this not-talking is different from the one in the classroom. This one is nicer. Much nicer. And Sokka realizes he's smiling kinda dorky-like, but he also realizes that he doesn't really care.

He turns to look at Zuko, wondering idly if his golden eyes glow in the dark. "Hey, Zuko?"

"Hmm?" the other hums contently, head lolling to the side to face Sokka.

"I'm sorry."

Zuko smiles then, a real smile, showing teeth and everything. "'S okay."

And everything's right with Sokka's world again.

* * *

"Hey, Sokka."

"Wha—huh?" Sokka pants, still spent from their recent game of tag.

"You're from the water tribes, aren't you?" says Zuko, indicating his blue clothing.

Sokka nods, furrowing his brow, not sure where this is going.

"What're ya doin' in the Fire Nation?"

Oh.

Sokka goes back to studying the sky, chest heaving as he attempts to catch his breath and come up with an answer to Zuko's question.

It's not that he hasn't been asked this before. Strutting around with his tell-tale blue clothing amongst the sea of reds and blacks, it's not hard for Sokka to stand out. And he absolutely refuses to change the way he dresses simply for the sake of blending in. He'd rather be the weird kid with the tan skin and blue outfits than be ashamed of his origins. And Gran-Gran more than agrees with him, so he sees no problem in it.

Sure, he gets teased a lot. But that's okay. Who needs those jerks anyway? He's got Zuko.

"Sokka?"

"Wha—huh? Oh." He grins sheepishly. "Sorry. I was thinking."

"'S okay. What about?"

"My mom and dad," he mumbles, eyes following a badgermouse cloud as it crawls lazily across the blue expanse of sky. Zuko doesn't say anything, but Sokka can feel his eyes on him. "They're back home."

"Home?"

"Mm-hmm," Sokka nods slightly. "In the Southern Water Tribe."

"And you . . . you have a little sister too, right?"

"Yeah!" Sokka responds enthusiastically, just about bursting at the seams with brotherly pride. "Did I tell you she's a waterbender? We found out when—"

"But why're you here?" Zuko interjects, echoing his question from earlier, brow knit in confusion.

The other boy seems to sag into the ground before his shoulders rise and fall in a small shrug. "I'm here with my Gran-Gran," he says, evading the question. This doesn't go unnoticed by Zuko, who fixes Sokka with an _I know what you're doing, now stop it and answer the question, idiot _look. Sokka sighs, continuing to stare at the sky as if it might hold all the answers for him. Then he sits up suddenly, shoves Zuko's shoulder, and jumps up to take off towards the slides. "Tag, you're it!"

"Sokka!" Zuko whines, but he's already on his feet. "Get back here!"

"You're gonna hafta catch m'first!"

Zuko growls, all too happy to do just that.

* * *

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"What? C'mon! I think it's cool!"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You don't even waterbend."

"That's not important! I'm still fierce and scary like a shark."

"No, not really."

"Yuh-huh."

"Nuh-uh."

"Yuh-_huh._"

"Nuh-_uh._"

"Aw, c'mon, Zuko!"

"No!" Zuko crosses his arms, doggedly refusing to play along with Sokka's ridiculous idea. "I don't wanna be Lavagirl."

"But—"

"No," Zuko repeats, his tone brooking no argument. But when has that ever worked on Sokka?

"But you both shoot fire! And you both have awesome hair. Ooh, and—"

"My hair isn't _pink._"

"Doesn't matter," Sokka dismisses easily with a flap of his hand. "You could—"

"I'm not a _girl,_" Zuko tries again, screwing his face up into something resembling disgust. "They have cooties."

Sokka considers this for a moment, face serious and pensive, before eventually coming to the conclusion that Zuko has a very good point. "Okay!" he announces. "Then we'll just change your name to Lavaboy."

"Lavaboy?" Zuko parrots, trying the word out. And he's definitely warming up to the idea now, but there's still just that tad bit of lingering doubt in the back of his mind. "I dunno, Sokka . . ."

"What? No, it'll be great, trust me!" He squishes himself up beside Zuko and throws an arm around the other's shoulders. His free arm comes up to sweep across the space before them, as if envisioning some giant marquee sign in the bright sky. "The Adventures of Sharkboy and Lavaboy! It'll be great!"

". . . Okay," Zuko agrees, and Sokka bounces with glee. "But! Only if we call it the Adventures of _Lavaboy_ and Sharkboy."

"What?" Sokka protests, jumping away from Zuko. "Why does your name get to go first?"

"'Cause," Zuko says with a sniff, nose turning up in the air. "_I _can actually firebend."

Sokka pouts. "_Fiiiiine,_" he groans. "But only if you show me a firebending trick," Sokka demands, punctuating the statement with a poke to Zuko's chest.

Zuko's eyes widen considerably at the request. "I already told ya I dunno any," he reminds the other boy.

Sokka just scoffs, rolling his eyes. "You gotta know _one._"

Zuko knows, just knows, deep down, that this is a bad idea, but the way Sokka's looking at him . . . "I . . . I may know one," he admits slowly, uncertainly.

A grin blooms on Sokka's face. "Great! So show me!"

"I—I dunno, Sokka. It's . . . What if we get caught?"

"Nobody's gonna see," Sokka assures him impatiently. "Just don't do anything big."

"But . . . It's . . . Something bad could happen."

"Pfft. What's the worst that could happen?"

Zuko's mind flashes back to last night, about his mother and father arguing. He hadn't been able to make out much, just that Azula had done something at the Nitavitas Academy. Something with fire. Something bad. Father was adamant that it was an accident or that it couldn't have been Azula because she'd never be so careless. Mother was . . . Mother was less than sure.

"Hellooo? Zuko? Earth to Zuko!"

"S-Sokka, I really don't—"

Sokka huffs, crossing his arms and turning away. "I knew you didn't know any tricks."

That's when Zuko's dignity and pride get the best of him. "I do too!"

Sokka whirls back around, fists clenched at his sides now. "Well, I don't believe you."

Zuko scowls, and before he knows it—almost as if his body had a mind of its own—his arms are outstretched at his sides, parallel to the ground, flames shooting out of his palms. Sokka's face breaks out into the biggest smile he's ever seen, awed and impressed and like Zuko's the most amazing thing he's ever seen.

So Zuko gets cocky.

And that's when the something bad happens.

He once saw his father, while training in their courtyard, do a roundhouse kick, streams of fire shooting out from his feet. And maybe, if he can just concentrate hard enough, feel the energy flowing through his body and pool in his foot, maybe he can—

Sokka's anguished cry fills his ears and Zuko loses his balance, legs sliding out from under him. He collapses on the ground and watches in horror as his friend flails around in the dirt, desperately attempting to put out the flames licking at the fabric of his clothes.

A girl nearby screams, a teacher calls for people to stand back, and everybody's got a litany of "oh, Spirits," "what happened?", and "that boy did it!" going on. One even has the gall to wonder aloud what it's like to be burned alive.

But Zuko doesn't hear any of it. The rush of blood in his ears is like a waterfall, drowning out all other noise. But not his thoughts. _I did this._ He can only sit there and _watch_, helpless and trembling and fighting the urge to vomit. _I did this, I did this, I did this. _I _did this._

The last thing Zuko sees before he loses consciousness is Sokka being doused in a bucket of water.

* * *

**A/N: Don't you hate when you ask someone something really serious but then get distracted and totally forget about it later so your question never really gets answered and nothing seems to be resolved? Yeah?**

**Me too.**

**So don't worry if Sokka's being all secretive. He'll spill. I'll make him. With mah FISTS O' FUUURY.**

**Ahem. Yeah.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Um, so . . . I'm not a doctor.  
**

* * *

It hurts. It really, really hurts. He's done stupid stuff before, broken bones and bled from cuts. But this is a different kind of hurt. This is like the bites of a million fire ants, times a thousand—no, a million. And not just fire ants. Spiders are biting him too. And wasps and bees just keep burying their stingers into his stomach, his sides, his arms, over and over and _over _again.

And Sokka just wants his mommy.

He wants his mommy to come and make the hurt go away, to stroke his hair and hum him a lullaby, to tell him that it's okay to cry if it hurts.

But his mommy's not here. His mom's at home, and he needs to stop being such a baby. Dad probably wouldn't cry. Mom would tell Dad that it's okay to, but he still wouldn't do it. So Sokka won't do it either. He won't cry.

"Sokka?"

_Gran-Gran. _He almost breaks his resolve to not shed a tear, the desire to sob in relief so great because Mom may not be here but _Gran-Gran _is. Gran-Gran with her soft voice and soft hands. She can make the hurt go away too, how could he forget Gran-Gran?

"Sokka? Are you awake?"

He wants to say something, to open his mouth and respond, ask her to make the pain stop or just to hold his hand. But he's afraid that if he opens his mouth, he'll only scream.

And he can't open his eyes. He can't. He doesn't—He doesn't want to see how bad it is. He doesn't want to see the burns. But it's not like he has to. He can feel them perfectly fine, after all.

And he's just so tired.

"Shhh, Sokka. Sleep, little one . . ."

* * *

". . . arms and sides aren't too bad. His torso . . . second-degree burns. A skin graft . . ."

". . . risks of surgery . . ."

". . . dressing will be kept on for a few days so as to . . ."

". . . long until he can go . . ."

". . . IV fluids will keep him hydrated, and the . . ."

Finding that he doesn't really understand any of this and his brain feels like it's been replaced with swaths of cotton anyway, Sokka just tunes the voices out and readily lets the darkness at the edges of his mind creep in and drag him back under.

* * *

_Sokka giggles as he twirls around the meadow, arms spread wide as if to embrace the entire world in a giant bear hug. So happy and carefree is he, Sokka is completely oblivious to the small figure creeping up behind him._

"_BOO!"_

"_GAH!" He loses his footing, slipping and falling back onto the green, green grass of the meadow._

"_Told you I'd get you back," Zuko cackles, hugging his midsection and doubling over with laughter._

"_Zuko!" the other cries out, leaping practically ten feet in the air and wrapping his arms around the firebender's small frame. The world can get a hug some other time. Zuko's here!_

"_Where've you been, Sokka?" Zuko's hugging him back and Sokka's world truly can't get any better. Well, maybe if Mom and Dad and Gran-Gran and 'Tara were here, but having Zuko's okay too. Really, really okay. "Sokka?"_

_The little Water Tribe boy doesn't respond. Doesn't really want to. Zuko smells just like he remembers. Autumn leaves and smoke and like a warm campfire in the_—

Fire. Everywhere, covering him, eating him, choking—

"_Sokka?"_

"_H-Huh?"_

_Zuko's looking at him like that time Mom had when he'd jumped into the freezing ocean buck-naked on a dare and almost turned into a popsicle. A popSokkal? Sokksicle?_

"_Sokka, hey!" Zuko's shaking him now, concern growing in his golden eyes._

"_You hurt me."_

_Zuko's eyes widen, an assortment of emotions flashing through them, so scared and helpless and hurt. A lot like how Sokka feels. "Sokka, I didn't . . . I didn't mean_—"

"_You hurt me. You_—_You promised you w-wouldn't."_

"_S-Sokka, wait_—"

_But Sokka doesn't want to wait. He just wants to run. He wants to get away from Zuko and his eyes and his hands and his_—_his _fire.

"_Sokka!"_

_Don't look back._

"_Sokka!"_

_He broke his promise._

"_SOKKA!"_

* * *

"Sokka!"

"Wha—huh—no, no, I don't—hurt—you hurt—"

"Sokka, hush, child, it's okay, it's okay." Gran-Gran strokes his head, shushing him in that soothing way that all grandmothers seem to have mastered.

Sokka squeezes his eyes shut, focusing all his attention on his Gran-Gran's presence, and her gentle hands, and letting it ground him. He gropes blindly with one hand and winces when she takes it in her own—_fire, fire licking at his hands, eating away at his skin, stealing his breath_—but he doesn't let go. He doesn't let go because he needs this, so much. If he can't cry, then he can have this. Just this is enough.

"It's okay, Sokka, child. Don't hold it in."

So maybe it's not enough.

When he starts sobbing, Sokka doesn't really care anymore about that tough image he works so hard to keep in place. Because Gran-Gran loves him, and Mom loves him, and Dad loves him too, no matter what. And crying for a little bit is okay. Just for a little bit.

* * *

"I'm _bored, _Gran-Gran."

The weathered old lady only rolls her eyes at him and gently smacks his shoulder.

"Hey! You can't hit cripples, Gran-Gran!"

She chuckles, ruffling his hair despite his whining protest. "You are far from being a cripple, child."

Sokka pouts, crossing his arms across his chest and falling back onto the inclined mattress. "I'm in the hospital. Same thing."

Gran-Gran only tuts at him and reaches into her bag. "Here," she says, straightening back up, "read a book."

Sokka pushes the tome away as if it had personally offended him in some manner, sticking his tongue out as a clear indicator of repulsion. "_Euch! _Reading? Gran-Graaan," he whines. "Reading's no fun!"

"Well, it is for me," she states with finality, and returns to reading . . . whatever it is that she's reading. Sokka doesn't really care. Books are _gross._

He huffs, reaching for the TV remote, only to have it snatched away from his grasp at the last second. "Aw, Gran-Gran!"

"No TV," she says, not even looking up from her book.

"But why not?"

"Because that's all you've done these past two weeks."

"But that's all I _can _do!"

"You can read."

"But—But—I'm your grandson!"

At this, she does raise her eyes, regarding him with an air of _oh, this'll be good. _"Yes, you are."

"I coulda died, Gran-Gran. I coulda died and you woulda never been able to say good-bye to me."

The old lady reaches over to grasp Sokka's hand. "But you didn't."

"I coulda!" Sokka insists.

"But you didn't," she repeats. "And I'm very glad you didn't because I would've missed you dearly," she tells him softly, genuinely. ". . . But still no TV."

Any warmth in his chest that had been conjured by Gran-Gran's words immediately evaporate and he throws himself back against his pillow in exasperation. "This sucks."

"I love you too, little one."

* * *

A large glass of milk sits off to the side of the tray, the rest of the space having been taken up by a large, large helping of komodo sausage.

Sokka glances up at his Gran-Gran uncertainly. She only arches an eyebrow and nudges the plate of sausages closer towards him. "Gran-Gran . . ."

"Eat."

"But—"

"No buts, Sokka. _Eat._"

The Water Tribe boy's gaze flickers from his Gran-Gran's stern face to the pile of steaming komodo rhino meat, then back again, eyes pleading. Gran-Gran is less than impressed.

"Can't I jus' have more ivy?" Sokka asks, gesturing towards the tube attached to his arm. Sokka doesn't really get why the thing is called ivy. Maybe 'cause the tube is like an ivy vine. "The doc said they had stuff in 'em that's good for me, right?"

Gran-Gran hides her mouth behind her hand, doing her best to keep a cork on her mirth.

"Do ya think they have different flavors?"

The elderly woman shakes her head, patting Sokka's arm. "I don't think it works quite like that, little one."

Sokka frowns.

"You love to eat, child."

"Well, yeah," Sokka grumbles, pushing the meat around the plate with his chopsticks, "but it's really . . . _spicy._"

Gran-Gran sits in her chair at Sokka's bedside. "As it has always been, little one."

Sokka doesn't even bother making his usual point that he is no longer a _little _one and that if Gran-Gran absolutely insists on calling him _little, _then she should at least tack a 'warrior' onto the end of that. He just slouches forward, brooding, and when he speaks, his words come out as an unintelligible mumble.

"Juslvmaln."

Gran-Gran frowns, leaning forward and ears straining. The boy knows her hearing isn't what it used to be, why is he making this harder than it has to be? "What was that, Sokka?"

More grumbling.

"Sokka, child, you need to speak u—"

"I SAID JUST LEAVE ME ALONE, OKAY?"

The old lady pulls back slightly, eyebrows practically floating off her head, to fix Sokka with a steely Look. The one that promises bad, bad things if he doesn't correct his attitude right now.

The boy coughs sheepishly—Gran-Gran's wrath can match that of a raging blizzard, and those things are never fun—before mumbling a small apology.

"Sokka, child, _what _is the matter?" Gran-Gran asks, concerned and flabbergasted all at once.

"'M not hungry," Sokka grumbles in reply, all but shoving the tray away from him, milk sloshing over the brim of the glass it's contained in.

Gran-Gran doesn't buy it for one second.

"You are _always _hungry, child."

Sokka doesn't deny it. But he doesn't say anything else either, just glowers at his bedsheets and the gauze wrapped around his torso. Then it clicks.

"Sokka, little one," the elderly woman begins, carefully scrutinizing her grandson's face, "are you afraid to eat because the sausages are too . . . hot?"

"I'm not afraid!" he refutes immediately, indignance bubbling up in his chest. "It's jus' . . ." His voice loses its heat, lowering to something just barely above a whisper. "I jus' really dun'want it t' burn in my mouth."

Gran-Gran's face softens, understanding and sympathy practically radiating from her body. _He's just a boy._

But before she can say anything, there's a soft knock on the door to Sokka's hospital room. The two occupants of said room glance quizzically at each other before Gran-Gran rises from her seat to greet the visitors.

Sokka cranes his neck to peer around his Gran-Gran's form, hoping to catch a glimpse of his surprise visitors. Could it be his parents? Or Katara? All of them? Hope balloons in his chest and he smiles to himself, toes wiggling in anticipation.

But to say that seeing Zuko standing there is a bit of a shock would be the understatement of the year.

* * *

Zuko doesn't know what happened after he'd passed out, and everything that happened after he woke up in the nurse's office passed by as a nondescript blur. He remembers questions—a lot of questions—and he can still picture so clearly the look of fury and disappointment and . . . and something else, on his father's face.

And when he'd said that Zuko would be attending the Nativitas Academy by the end of winter break, the boy was torn between feeling elated that he's finally, finally, _finally _going to learn about what really matters to him and feeling crushed that his father's reasoning for doing so is because he'd been wrong in his judgment that Zuko was proving himself worthy enough to take up the art of firebending but leaving him uneducated and untrained for much longer would be too dangerous and, even worse, too embarrassing.

Zuko hadn't understood much of what his father was saying—too many big words—but he thinks he got the gist of it, and he knows for a fact that his father is neither proud of nor happy with him. But that's pretty easy to tell considering how he himself isn't feeling very proud or happy.

Zuko curls up tighter in the large mahogany chair, looping his arms around his bent knees and drawing them impossibly closer towards his person. He loses himself in the smell of jasmine leaves as Uncle bustles around the kitchen preparing a pot of tea.

_Sokka._

"Tea, Zuko?"

The little firebender shakes his head numbly, eyes downcast and expression sullen.

Uncle sighs as he shuffles over to his seat across from Zuko, sipping contemplatively from his cup of hot tea.

It's quiet in Uncle's room. It's _nice _in Uncle's room. As calm and comforting and welcoming as the jolly old man himself.

It's been two weeks since that horrible, horrible day where Sokka had—because Zuko had—and it was so—so . . .

School hasn't been the same since, not with the way people keep looking at him like he's going to attack them any minute or set the school on fire or explode or something. And especially not with the painfully empty seat at his side and deafening silence that was once filled up with a certain Water Tribe boy's endless ramblings. Upon waking this beautiful Saturday morning, Zuko had meandered down the hallways of his family's palace, no real destination in mind, and untempted by the sun and fresh air outside. But it seems his feet had an idea of where to go, and they'd lead him straight to Uncle's door.

It's a large room—bigger than most apartments even—complete with a small kitchen (Iroh simply can't be bothered to trek all the way down to the main kitchen every time he finds himself in want of a cup of tea), master bedroom, one-and-a-half bathrooms, and even a small living area. Of course, what else is to be expected of a man of such high status? Elegantly simple furnishings are laid out in the room and adorn the walls, an impressive collection of reds and blacks and gold fringing. A large red flag depicting the Fire Nation emblem takes up one whole wall, proudly showcasing Iroh's origins. A smattering of skillfully placed artifacts, of all four nations' cultures, are some of the many reminders of Iroh's adventures as a well-traveled old man. And on the mantel above the fireplace in the living area sits the portrait of a strong young man, decked up in uniform—but Iroh has long since retired from his position as general, even before the treaties for peace between the nations were drafted. And beside that portrait sits yet another, of a different strong young man, but bearing so much resemblance to the other, you'd find it hard to second-guess their relationship to one another as father and son.

But Zuko doesn't really pay any mind to his surroundings—he's already seen it a thousand times over. Plus, he's got more important things on his mind. And he can just _feel _Uncle Iroh burning holes into his head with his eyes and it's making him really uncomfortable. It's silent, save for Uncle's occasional sipping and Sokka's agonized screams.

But that last thing may just be in Zuko's head.

"Nephew," Iroh eventually says, breaking the silence, "it is—"

"IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, OKAY?" Zuko cringes at the sound of his own voice, how loud it is, how wrong it seems in the quiet air, and how it seems to echo in the room, in his ears.

Iroh raises a bushy white eyebrow, teacup pausing halfway to his mouth. "I never said it wasn't, Nephew."

"I just—It was—" Guilt and self-loathing create an almost tangible block in Zuko's throat, making it hard to speak, to swallow, to _breathe._ He only just manages to choke the next words out of his mouth, hating the taste they leave on his tongue, because they don't mean anything, they won't fix anything, they won't make Sokka okay again. "I didn't mean to, Uncle."

And then Uncle's there, enveloping him in his big arms and warm scent of tea—always the tea—and a cool summer evening, offering his silent support and unbridled understanding.

Then seemingly out of nowhere, Uncle's ordering Zuko to get up and put his shoes on.

"Wh-What for, Uncle?"

"Why, to pay your friend a visit, what else, Nephew?"

* * *

"Good afternoon!" Uncle greets cordially, offering a bright smile to the old woman who'd opened the door. "I hope that this isn't a bad time."

Zuko doesn't hear the woman's reply—scarcely sparing a thought to wonder if perhaps this is the reputable Gran-Gran he's heard so much about—because _Sokka _is there and _Sokka _is looking at him with such confusing emotion, it's making him dizzy.

"—that right, Zuko?"

The little firebender snaps out of his stupor, glancing up at his uncle. "R-Right," he agrees blindly.

"Great!" Uncle beams widely at him, giving Zuko a little push into the room at the same time that Sokka exclaims, "Gran-Gran, no!"

Zuko is completely lost as to what's going on. That is, until Sokka practically snarls, "I don't wanna see him," glaring pointedly at the little firebender. Zuko bristles, decidedly refusing to acknowledge the sharp pang in his chest, and whirls around on his heel. Of course Sokka doesn't want to see him. Stupid Uncle. Stupid Zuko. Stupid . . . everything!

"Fine," he hisses, already stomping back towards Uncle. Only to be stopped by the old man's hand on his shoulder.

"Now, now, Zuko," Uncle admonishes gently. "We've come all this way, let's not be rude to the kindly young lady who's so generously invited us inside." Zuko's almost certain he catches his Uncle sending a wink to Sokka's Gran-Gran and now he kind of wants to shove his head into the ground like an ostrich horse because, well, _gross._

"But he said he doesn't wanna see me," Zuko points out, folding his arms tightly in front of his chest. "Well, I dun'wanna see him either!" Zuko makes sure to raise his voice just enough so that the other boy can hear his last statement.

"Yeah, well, I din'wanna see you first!" Sokka calls from behind him.

Zuko executes yet another 180-degree turn to face the bed-ridden Water Tribe boy. "Well, I din'even wanna come here anyway! My Uncle made me! So really, _I _din'wanna see you first!" Now that's a downright lie if Iroh's ever heard one.

But Zuko's words have the desired effect. Perhaps working just a little _too _well, because Sokka's face crumples for just a second—wounded and crushed and Zuko wants to take it back, all of it—the words, the—the accident, everything. But he can't.

"Go away!" Sokka yells, eyes just about brimming with tears that resolutely refrain from spilling over. "Just go away!"

"Fine!"

"FINE!"

And then Zuko's pushing past his uncle to escape those heartbreakingly sad blue eyes.

* * *

"Zuko!" The old man is already tottering on after his nephew, and Gran-Gran turns to Sokka with a disapproving frown.

But Sokka doesn't care. He's angry at Zuko. Even if he misses him and isn't really angry with him at all.

"Sokka."

The Water Tribe boy doesn't respond, unable to speak past the hard lump in his throat.

Gran-Gran's demeanor softens then, just marginally so, and she makes her way to Sokka's side, rubbing gentle, soothing circles on his back. "Sokka, child . . ."

"Do you—_sniff_—Do you think he h-hates me, Gran-Gran?" Sokka asks, hating how small his voice sounds.

The old lady leans down to press a gentle kiss to her grandson's forehead. "Of course not, child." She grabs his hand. "Do you hate him?"

"N-No," Sokka sniffs, and he means it. He really, really means it.

"Then what's the matter, little one?"

"H-He still h-hurt me, Gran-Gran."

Gran-Gran has to sit, old age preventing her from staying stooped over so long—_I really am getting old_—as a contemplative silence overtakes her.

It's true. The young firebender did hurt her grandson. But it's also true that ever since moving here five months ago, she's never seen Sokka so happy before. Kids make mistakes and they do stupid things—if anyone is to blame, it's the boys parents. Though she may be just a tad bit biased—she may not like it, but after moving to here, she's had to acquaint herself with the people and culture of the Fire Nation. And she knows who Zuko is—more importantly, who his father is, having even met him in person once. But the boy is different. Call it elderly intuition. Whatever the case, friendship is always something to be cherished, and if she can forgive the little Fire Nation boy—whom is obviously guilt-ridden beyond words—then her grandson should be able to forgive him as well.

_Forgive and let live._

"Do you think he will do it again?"

The answer is already on the tip of Sokka's tongue, but he feels like he should at least _pretend _to have to think about it. Why throw a big fuss and say all those stupid, mean things if he already forgives and trusts Zuko? If he were older, the thought probably would've scared him—to trust someone so readily and quickly—but as it is, Sokka isn't older. He's a seven-year-old, and an optimistic one at that. Things can only get better in his world.

"No."

Gran-Gran smiles, giving his small hand a tiny squeeze. "Good. Because if he does—"

"You'll sic a polar bear dog on him, I know," Sokka finishes for her, fond exasperation coloring his words. He grins at his Gran-Gran. "Love you, Gran-Gran."

The old lady smiles right back. "I know, child. And I, you." She rises from her seat, dusting imaginary lint off her long dress. "Now. Shall we try this again, _without _the screaming and crying?"

Sokka splutters and flails animatedly at this. "I wasn't—I wasn't _crying!_"

* * *

Zuko grips the silver pendant so tightly in his hands, it leaves an imprint. _Stupid. This whole thing was stupid. _He considers tossing it, just dump it in a trash bin and walk away, but he can't. Partly because he's kind of completely attached to it and partly because Uncle would have his head if he lost something so precious (and expensive). It doesn't register in his mind that maybe he's still holding out hope that he'll get this to Sokka, _somehow._

After storming out of Sokka's hospital room—_I put him there, I put him there, I_—Zuko hadn't gone ten steps before his legs gave out from under him and he had to sit. Nurses and patients passing by are giving him strange looks, but he finds he doesn't really much care. Let them stare. It's not like he's not used to it. Being Ozai's son, as well as the boy who set a kid on fire, garners a lot of attention.

"Ah, Nephew! There you are."

"Leave m'alone, Uncle."

The retired general crouches down beside his nephew, hand warm on his back, eyeing the pendant in Zuko's hands. He reaches for it, hesitating as if to ask for permission. It doesn't come, at least not verbally, but Iroh understands, and he pries it gently from the young firebender's grasp.

He recalls Zuko having said he needed to grab something from his room before they'd left for the hospital. Old, weathered fingers run gently across the piece of jewelry, ornate in its design yet . . . he wouldn't quite describe it as being flashy. Two dragons intertwined, tails twisting round and round to keep them interlocked, wings spread and snouts just a hair's breadth away from touching as they face each other. A blue jewel encrusts the one visible eye of the dragon on the right, and a red one gleams on the eye of the dragon on the left.

Certainly not a conventional apology gift. But perhaps . . . perhaps a good-bye one.

"Nephew . . ." Zuko only sniffs, trying his best not to wipe his nose on his sleeve. Because he's been taught better than that. Plus, it's kinda gross. "Come." Iroh tugs gently at Zuko's elbow, urging him to his feet and leading him off to the side, out of the way of others.

The boy sags against the wall, shoulders slumped, looking much too sad for one his age. "H-He hates me."

Iroh gives his shoulder a slight squeeze, pressing the pendant back into Zuko's little palm. "Sometimes people say things they don't mean when they are angry, Nephew." Zuko doesn't respond. "Your friend still cares about you very much, you know."

Something sparks in the young firebender's chest, but he stomps it out. If he doesn't hope, he can't be disappointed. "Nuh-uh." He shrugs away from his uncle, but his hold on the pendant doesn't relent. "I set him on _fire, _Uncle."

"That you did," Iroh chuckles, and Zuko shoots him a scathing glare, complete with proverbial daggers.

"'S not funny," the boy snaps.

"No, it isn't," the old man agrees, "but the fog over your eyes most certainly is."

Zuko groans, head lolling back, exacerbated. "Stop _riddling, _Uncle. You know I don't like—_hey!_" Zuko attempts to wrest his wrist out of his uncle's iron grip, but his efforts prove futile. "_Uncle!_"

And then they're standing right back where they were not five minutes ago. Zuko persists in his struggling. "Uncle, I don't wanna—"

The boy's objections are cut off when the door slides open, startling both Iroh and his nephew.

"Well," Gran-Gran mumbles under her breath, "this definitely saves me a lot of trouble."

* * *

After much coaxing and the awkward meeting of golden eyes with cobalt ones, which was accompanied by even awkwarder silences, Uncle had managed to plop (_force_) Zuko into Gran-Gran's usual seat. The two elders had then left the room, claiming to go get a cup of tea.

Zuko narrows his eyes at the two retreating figures, too nervous to turn around and look at the other boy. _Uncle is so unfair._

"So, um . . ."

Zuko startles, haven't been expecting Sokka to actually go and, well, _talk _to him. The young firebender twists in his seat to face the other boy, eyes wide and that stupid hope bubbling up again. "So . . ."

Sokka clears his throat, fiddling with something in his hands, but the blankets obscure Zuko's view of what it is. "So did ya really not wanna come see me?"

Zuko drops his head, legs swinging to and fro as his cheeks color. "No," he mutters. He chances a glance up and, upon discovering Sokka's unabashed smile, feels one tugging at the corner of his own lips.

"Really?"

"Yeah." The smile grows. But then his lips turn down in a frown and Zuko wonders what he's done wrong now. He seems to be doing everything wrong lately.

"Why didn't 'cha come sooner?"

Zuko scratches his head, reaching into his pocket to find the dragons pendant. "Father wouldn't let me."

Sokka seems taken aback by this new piece of information. "Why not?"

Zuko shrugs. "He said I shouldn't have t' 'pologize to a—a Water Tribe peasant." Zuko stumbles over the words, despising their demeaning nature.

"Do you . . . Do you think I'm a peasant?"

Zuko's head jerks up sharply, alarm in his eyes. "No! No, not at all, Sokka!"

And the smile he gets in return only inflates that balloon of hope in his chest even further.

Sokka slides over in his hospital bed, patting the area next to him. Zuko hesitates—what if he hurts him? But Sokka only rolls his eyes, patting the spot more firmly. With a sigh, Zuko clambers on beside the other boy, careful to avoid touching him but unable to tear his eyes away from the bandages wrapped around his middle.

"Does it hurt?" he asks tentatively.

Sokka almost doesn't get what he means, only catching on when he follows Zuko's gaze. "Nah," he brushes it off casually with a one-shouldered shrug. "It used to, a lot, but it's better. And my hands are completely healed now, see?" He excitedly shoves his hands into Zuko's face, waving them back and forth as if that somehow conveys how okay they are.

"Oof, _Sokka, _get your hands outta—" Something glints in the corner of Zuko's vision, catching his attention and he slaps Sokka's hands away to reach for it. "What's th—"

"GAAAH!" Sokka all but shoves Zuko off the already too small bed in his haste to snatch back . . . whatever it is. "No! You can't see that!"

Zuko, taking a page from Sokka's book, juts his lower lip out. "Why not?"

"'Cause it's—you—ya jus' can't yet, okay?" Sokka brings his closed fist to the center of his chest. "It's a surprise."

Zuko's ears perk up at the word 'surprise.' "For me?"

". . . Maaaybe."

"What is it? Lemme see!"

"No—_Zuko! _Gah, stop—"

"I just wanna know what it is!"

"Nooo!" Sokka twists his body around so that his right hand, the shiny thing enclosed inside it, is farthest from Zuko and flaps his other arm frantically in the hopes of deterring the firebender from grabbing at the object.

It works. Kind of.

"Hmph." Zuko relaxes back into his previous position parallel to his friend. "Meanie."

Sokka huffs a sigh of relief, settling back into the bed but eyes narrowed into tiny slits of suspicion, wary of every move the other boy makes. "'M not a meanie. You jus' suck at getting surprised."

"That doesn't even make sense!"

"Does too!"

Zuko groans in defeat, seemingly sinking deeper into the hospital bed's lumpy mattress. "Fine. Then I won't show you what _I _got you."

This definitely grabs Sokka's attention.

"Ya got me somethin'? What is it? Lemme see!"

"HA!" Zuko points a victorious finger at the Water Tribe boy's nose.

"_Zukooo,_" Sokka whines, bumping shoulders with him. "C'mon, show meee!"

"Nope." Zuko crosses his arms and lays back on the bed, closing his eyes. "You first."

"Aw, no fair!"

"It is, too, fair!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yuh-huh!"

"Just show me the—"

"GAH, Sokka, that _hurts_—Why're you pinching my _face_, th—hey, _ow!_"

"No! Gimme the thingie!"

"You first!"

"No, you!"

"AAARGH."

"Fine!" Sokka shouts, valiantly keeping on a relatively straight face even as his torso begins protesting all his jerky movements. "Same time. Trade?"

Zuko, not as oblivious to the other's discomfort as Sokka would like him to be, puts up very little resistance to the suggestion. The last thing he wants is for Sokka to hurt even more because of him.

"Okay."

"But you gotta close your eyes."

"You too," says Zuko, reaching slowly into his pocket.

Sokka nods, eyes sliding shut. Zuko follows suit. "On three?"

"On three."

"One . . ."

"Two . . ."

"Th—"

"Wait, wait, wait!"

Zuko's eyes fly open, flummoxed. "What? Why? What's wrong?"

"Now when you say on three, do you mean _on _three or _after _three or—_oomph!_"

"Would ya just gimme the thing already?" Zuko snaps, having already had it up to his eyebrows with this whole waiting thing.

Sokka rips the pillow away from his face, shooting his best evil eye death glare at Zuko. "I can't give you your present if I can't _breathe!_"

"Ugggh, _Sokka. _You're so _dramatic._"

"_Fine, _fine." He unfurls his fist to reveal a gleaming crystal snowflake. "Here." He thrusts it towards Zuko, adamantly avoiding eye contact all the while.

There's a long moment where all Zuko can do is stare. He's never seen anything like it before. He's heard of snow, and he knows what it is, but he's never _seen _it before. Not in person, anyways. "Wow," he breathes, reaching gingerly for the chain attached to the snowflake and holding it up to watch the pendant twirl and catch the light. "Do all snowflakes look like this?"

Sokka snorts, considerably less nervous now that his gift seems to have been received so positively. "No, they're all different," he informs Zuko matter-of-factly. "But they're really small. So ya can't really tell unless ya got one o' those 'scopic thingies."

Zuko cocks his head to the side, studying the snowflake. He notes absentmindedly that it's almost as pretty and blinding as Sokka's smile. Almost.

"When'd ya get this?" Zuko asks curiously, slipping the large chain over his head and onto his neck. He doesn't miss the way Sokka observes him appreciatively, face practically glowing.

"A long, long time ago," he replies, "back home. Mom gave it t' me one day and told me t' give it t' someone special." Sokka punches Zuko on the shoulder then. "And best friends seem like they'd be someone special."

Zuko returns the punch, cheeks hurting from smiling so much. "Yeah."

He stares at Sokka for a long while, just wanting to bask in the moment for a while. But his basking is cut short by Sokka clearing his throat and the expectant expression.

"Oh!" Zuko doesn't miss the way the other boy rolls his eyes, but whatever. His eyes won't be rolling when he sees what Zuko got him. Er, maybe. Hopefully.

Zuko reaches into his pocket to retrieve the pendant, but pauses just before handing it over.

"Aw, c'mon, I wanna see!"

"Ya gotta promise me somethin', okay?" Zuko says as gravely as he can to convey the seriousness of his next request.

Sokka's brow furrows, but he nods, biting his tongue. For the moment, anyway.

"You can't ever take it off, 'kay?"

"Pffft." Sokka huffs. "Is _that _all? Well," he stabs a finger at the snowflake dangling from Zuko's neck, "then you can't take that off either. Deal?"

"Deal," Zuko smiles.

"Now jus' _show me _already!"

And he does. He fidgets and he squirms and he wishes Sokka would just _say _something instead of sit there staring, the steady, monotonous beeping of the machines surrounding Sokka's bed providing the background music to Zuko's disquiet.

Zuko had been fully expecting Sokka's hug—he's a very physical person, Zuko's come to notice—but that doesn't mean he's fully _prepared _for it, and he almost topples over with the force of it.

"It's perfect."

And Zuko agrees wholeheartedly that this . . . this is perfect.

* * *

The two elders swapping embarrassing stories of their respective nephew and grandson's reckless antics put a stop to their discussion—only a temporary one, of course, because they're horrible people and it's their job to embarrass their little ones to death—upon reentering Sokka's room.

The two boys lay together on the tiny, cramped bed, snuggled up against one another and snoring lightly. Well, Zuko is. Sokka sounds like a freight train mixed with a stampede of komodo rhinos. And as uncomfortable as the tight space must be, they look as if they'd rather be nowhere else.

The two elders share a knowing look, thinking the same exact thing in that moment.

_Boys._

The elderly woman settles into her original seat as the elderly man pulls up his own chair, and they sit in comfortable silence, leisurely sipping their steaming hot tea.

* * *

The past week, in Sokka's opinion, has been the best week of his life so far. Partly (completely) due to Zuko.

And now it's all coming crashing down because of that very same person.

"O-Oh." Sokka busies himself with tugging and pinching a loose strand on the hospital sheets. He truly can't wait to go home tomorrow, and he'd asked Zuko to come with him, maybe stay over so they can have a contest to see who can stay up the latest, or so that Sokka can finally see for himself whether or not Zuko's eyes glow in the dark.

But Zuko can't come over. Because Zuko needs to pack. Because Zuko's leaving.

"'S okay."

"R-Really?" Zuko's voice sounds a little funny to Sokka's ears, but he doesn't have the energy to really ponder on it. Because Zuko's _leaving._

"Yeah," he shrugs limply. "'S where ya wanna go, right?"

"Well, y-yeah. But—"

"Then 's okay!" Sokka beams at him. Or, er, tries to, but his face looks more like that time he'd accidentally swallowed a bug. So he shoves another handful of Fire Flakes into his mouth.

"Sokka, I . . ." Zuko trails off, unsure of where he was going with that sentence anyway.

"Yeah," Sokka swallows painfully, the knot in his throat making it difficult for the chewed mush in his mouth to go down. Maybe stuffing all those Fire Flakes into his face wasn't such a good idea. "I'll miss ya too," he says, following the sentiment with a soft punch to Zuko's shoulder. "Hey," he begins cheerily at his friend's ensuing silence, "say hi t' 'Tara for me, 'kay?"

"Y-Yeah."

And because Sokka's the amazing friend that he is, he socks Zuko in the arm. Again. "Hey! Would ya stop that? Your punches hurt," the firebender mutters, rubbing the already reddening spot on his arm.

Sokka smiles suddenly, a joke popping into his head. "Ya want me to stop . . . _Sokka_ng you in the arm?" Y'know. Like when ya sock someone in the face or something. And Sokka sounds like—well. Okay. So he never claimed it was a _good _joke.

But it gets the desired reaction—an eye-roll and chuckle-snort—and everything's okay again, just for a little bit.

Sokka does his best to rope Zuko into a conversation about what would happen if an armadillo lion and armadillo wolf could have babies together ("Do ya think it'd make a lion wolf? Or just an armadillo?"

"Armadillo what?"

"Just an armadillo."

"That's stupid, Sokka. There're no such things as armadillos."

"Your face is stupid!"

"Well . . . you smell!"

_Sniff sniff. _"Huh.")

However, cogs and gears are already whirring inside the Water Tribe boy's little head, planning and scheming up ways for him to get himself into the benders' academy.

As if he'd let his best friend go so easily.

* * *

Candles flicker and sway, casting dancing shadows across the walls. The air is hot and heavy and humid, almost suffocating, thickening and wrapping itself around the candles dripping wax and the solitary figure sitting in the center of the room.

His eyes are closed in meditation—_control, always controlled_—and sweat drips down his forehead, creates a wet sheen over his bare torso and back, arms relaxed but not limp—_breathe, breath, control._

Thoughts nag at him, knock at his mind's door, shouting and demanding to be let in.

_Breathe, breath, control._

The flames enlarge and shrink in time with the rise and fall of his chest—_put off for too long, you'll ruin everything, you'll_—and he concentrates on that, only that, the breathing, his breaths, control. _Breathe, breath, c_—

_You fool! You utterly useless f_—

Something shifts in the air, the room's temperature rising to unbearably high levels, just bordering on the edge of too intense, too much, yet not enough.

_Breathe, breath, control._

Ozai struggles to keep his mind blank, to push away the thoughts trying to force their way in, but the air fills his nose, his mouth, his lungs, breathes life and strength into those thoughts. But he can't let them in, he can't let them in, he can't let them _win. _Ozai is a lot of things, but a loser isn't—

_Sending the girl first was a wise choice. Not a good one, but wise nonetheless._

Breathe, breath, control. _Breathe, _breath, c—

_But the boy._

Breathe, _breath, _control.

_The boy arrived much too late. Time is not a luxury we can afford, Ozai._

Here, Ozai drops all pretense of obliviousness to the voice inside his head.

_It's _Lord _Ozai._

_Pah! That title has no meaning here, _Ozai. _Your ancestors' reign of absolute power is no more._

Ozai grits his teeth, eyes remaining resolutely shut. _This constitutional monarchy won't last._

_Yes, _the voice concurs, and Ozai can practically hear its sneer, _but only if you do your part._

_The same applies to you as well, _lizard.

_How _dare _you, _it seethes, but Ozai's already opening his eyes.

And just like that, it's as if a spell is broken. The voice is there, it's always there, ever since that day—_control, always controlled_—but it's not so stifling anymore. It doesn't fill up his head or try to stretch out his skull. His temples throb, but that's been a constant as well, an irrelevant, if rather irksome, issue. The air seems to thin out, the room clearing just as his mind does the same.

Now. He needs to go pay visit to a certain little Water Tribe boy.

* * *

**A/N: WOW, that was a long one.**

**I don't much like this chapter. I had a hard time writing it—it just didn't flow outta my head like usual and my mind-thinks kept getting all jumbled while I wrote it._  
_**

**So I'm gonna cross my fingers and hope the next chapter turns out better. Although now that makes it just a tad bit harder to type . . .**

**Oh. And I am aware that ostriches don't _actually _stick their heads into the ground. But seven-year-old Zuko doesn't know that! Pfft.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: So . . . I've never gone hunting before. I don't know what the hell I'm talking about, but . . . yeah.**

**Ooh, that big chunk in _italics _is a flashback. And I apologize that this chapter is so flashback heavy and Zuko-less.**

* * *

An exceptionally strong current of wind comes gusting by, almost knocking Sokka over. _Ohhh, not today, wind. Not today._ Sokka pulls his heavy coat tighter about himself, squinting to see through the flurry of snow bombarding him and digging his snowshoes all the more harshly into the ground beneath his feet.

Fuck. Where is it?

Ducking behind a particularly large snow dune, Sokka takes a moment to survey the area about him, the mound of snow acting as a sort of makeshift cover from the wind and weather. Of course the weather had to worsen on the day he decides it's a good idea to go hunting for leopard seals.

He scratches distractedly at his nose, spotting a patch of ice not too far off. And maybe . . . it couldn't have gone far. A colony of penguins is waddling about on the ice. Looks like Sokka's not the only one hunting for dinner. He just needs to—_there, slipping into an ice hole!_ He pumps a fist in the air, face scrunched up in excitement.

Now for the hard part.

Sokka readjusts his grip on his spear, crouching low and tightening the drawstrings on the hood of his white coat. The leopard seal hasn't resurfaced yet, but it will soon enough. He just needs to be close enough to strike when it does. He creeps along the edges of the ice, quiet save for the slight crunch of snow accompanying every step, inaudible over the whistling of the wind anyways.

A penguin spots him, and a staring contest ensues. It's nerve-wracking, just bordering on maddening, and Sokka's eyebrow begins spasming. _Come on, come on, come o_—_DAMN IT!_ With a twitch of its whiskers, the penguin moves on, already losing interest as Sokka resists the urge to stomp his feet like some petulant five-year-old.

Someday, he _will _get one of these penguins to blink first.

He's about to challenge a second penguin to another staring contest—that one with the weird spot on its back is totally asking for it, just look at it tottering around like it owns the place, scum of the earth right there—but a little ripple in the ice hole reminds him that he's here on a _mission._

_Focus, Sokka, c'mon, man._

He gives the spear an experimental twirl—gah, fuck, he dropped it, wait, just—okay, nobody saw that. Except maybe that one penguin. He'll get to him soon enough. Right now, there's a leopard seal with his name on it. Sokka bends low, almost on all fours now but not quite, and slowly—oh, so painstakingly slowly—inches his way across the ice and towards the ice hole. Some penguins scatter as he draws near them, and he tenses, freezing immediately lest they've alerted the leopard seal to his presence.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, that leopard seal could be long gone now, having swam away and popped up at another hole in the ice.

_No! Stop that, stay positive, c'mon. The tribe's countin' on ya._

Okay. Okay. Just breathe. A couple more inches forward, there ya go, you can do this, nice and steady. Slow and steady wins the race or something, right? Just ten feet from the ice hole now, Sokka ponders on the best way to go about this. Should he toss a fish over there to lure some penguins and strike when the seal pops up? He narrows his eyes in thought, so engrossed in thinking is he that he almost doesn't catch the ripple in the water before it's too late.

The leopard seal appears, baring its massive molars as it jumps for an otter penguin that'd had the misfortune to stray too close to the hole, snapping ferociously at its feet. The surrounding penguins screech, fleeing and alternating between waddling and sliding away from the predator.

"Fuck," Sokka curses under his breath, sprinting forward, spear at the ready. The seal spots him though, and, penguin held firmly in between its jaw, makes a break for the hole. "Oh, no, you don't!"

Sokka practically throws himself into the air the last few feet, bringing his spear down on the leopard seal's tail. It throws its head back with a pained howl, limp body of the otter penguin falling back to the ice. The large brute of an animal whips around to snap at Sokka and he jumps back, sans spear. The seal resumes dragging itself back towards the hole and Sokka scrambles after it.

"Wait! I just want to eat you!" He is wholly ignored. "At least lemme take that thing outta your ass!" Sokka manages to latch himself onto the spear and give a good, hard yank, the tip coming free, stained with blood. The seal growls and Sokka wonders distantly if maybe today's the day he's finally mauled to death or dragged underwater to his doom. But the leopard seal simply slips back into the water, the only evidence that it was ever there being the trail of blood leading from Sokka's feet towards the hole in the ice.

"GAAAH!" The Water Tribe boy pulls despairingly at his hair, pushing his hood back in the process. "When did this get so _hard?_" Strands of hair come loose from his wolf tail, pulled out of place by his mussing. He drops to the ground right then and there, legs criss-crossed, elbows on knees, and head in hands.

Well, this sucks.

A memory tugs faintly at his mind but he shakes it off. No time for some leisurely stroll down memory lane right now. With a long-suffering sigh, Sokka pushes himself to his feet and stretches, reaching for the sky then twisting his body from side to side.

Welp. Time to find another leopard seal and try this again.

* * *

In Sokka's opinion, the best part of hunting is the hunt itself—the stalking, the watching, the tracking. Patience may not be his strong suit, but it's different when he's hunting. The kill is a bit more . . . well, he can't say he loves it. It's just something he has to do, a means of survival.

But the absolute worst part would have to be dragging all that dead weight back to the tribe.

"Sokka, Sokka, Sokka!"

A congregation of young boys—Sokka's little warriors-in-the-making—comes pouring out of various huts and igloos and attacking him with hugs and questions.

"Whoa! Did ya kill that thing all by yourself, Sokka?"

"Was there a lotta blood?"

"Did it put up a fight?"

"Did it bite ya?"

"I bet I could kill one even _bigger_'n this one!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"I bet _I _could! 'Cause _I _don't wet my bed like Bakaru!"

"Hey!"

"Okay, hey, hey, hey, settle down here!" Sokka shouts, putting on his best leadership voice. It's . . . mildly effective. "Since you're all so excited," he begins cheerily, "who wants to help me turn this big guy into some reasonably-sized jerky?"

He's met with silence. And avoidance of eye contact. Then excuses.

"Um . . . what? I think I hear my mom calling me. Yes, Mom? Oh, you want me to clean the gutters for you? Okay!"

"Uh—Uh, yeah! Hey, ya need some help? Hey, wait for me!"

"Um, I—I can't. I—_cough_—I'm really sick, so . . . no thanks!"

"Um, yeah, I'm too busy . . . wetting my bed."

"Huh?" Sokka gapes, dumbfounded, as the kids that had crowded him not thirty seconds ago are now running from him as if he's been infected with the plague. "H-Hey! We don't even _have _gutters!" Frustrated, he gives a sharp swing of his arm. "Pah! Fine! I don't need you!"

_Little warriors-in-the-making, my _ass.

* * *

"Ohhh, yeah. That—That's the stuff. Mmm . . . I've missed you so much. Did you miss me? Of course you did."

Kanna observes her grandson with a quirked eyebrow, eyes stuck between wanting to continue staring at Sokka cuddle up adoringly with his sleeping bag and bugging out of her head at the sight of her grandson . . . well, cuddling up with his sleeping bag.

"Sokka?"

"Wh—GAH!" Sokka flounders for a moment, pulling his blankets up to his neck as if he'd been caught doing something indecent. And with the way Gran-Gran's looking at him, he's beginning to think that he's been sleep-walking naked or . . . something risque like that. "Gran-Gran!"

"I'm aware it's been a while since you've had a girlfriend, child, but I wasn't aware it'd been _that _long."

"Gran-Gran!" Sokka squeaks, heat flooding his cheeks despite his best attempts to keep it down. "That's not—_ew! _I'm not—I just—"

"Don't fret, little one, I promised that when you got older, I'd give you more privacy. What you do behind closed flaps is none of my business." Sokka opens his mouth to refute that statement—there is _no _business whatsoever for Gran-Gran to not know about.

It makes sense. Just don't think about it. Shut up.

Gran-Gran beats him to it though. "I just came to tell you dinner is ready." And with that, she's gone, the flap of his tent falling closed once more.

Sokka flops back onto his sleep sack. "I'm not little!" he shouts uselessly. It's not like she'd hear him now anyway. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Urrrgh." Can't a seventeen-year-old guy enjoy a moment with his bed? Er, sleeping bag?

A hunter needs his sleep, man.

* * *

"A letter came from Katara today."

Sokka, slurping noisily from his bowl of sea prune stew, almost spits it all back up. _Slurp, chew, swallow, c'mon, basics, man, basics. _When his mouth is free of food, he beams at Gran-Gran. "Really? What'd it say?"

"Well, you can see for yourself once you finish inhaling your food, little one."

"Hardy-har-har." Sokka shoots the elderly woman a glout (his very own patented glare crossed with a pout) but she pays him no mind. As the hearth burns in the middle of the large communal igloo and the din of children and women talking and eating fills the air, Sokka can't help but sigh in contentment, just so happy to be home.

It was certainly a surprise all those years ago—what is it, ten years now?—when Gran-Gran just told him to pack up all his things, "_We're going home." _He still has no idea what prompted the move back, but he certainly isn't complaining. It's not like he really liked the Fire Nation—it was always unbearably hot, the food was ridiculously spicy, and he didn't really have many friends.

Well, except maybe one.

The dragons are hidden under his many layers of clothing, but he can feel them, weighing warm and heavy on his neck, resting against his sternum. A memory threatens to surface to the forefront of his mind, but he forcefully pushes it back. This was a guy he knew ten years ago, and for only, what, four months, at the most?

He frowns at his still half full bowl of stew, suddenly having lost his appetite. It's not like he could ever get into that school anyway. No matter how hard he tried.

And boy, did he try.

* * *

"_Hey, Katara."_

"_Yeah, Sokka?" His sister looks up at him curiously, dropping her arms and her water whip disintegrates, giving him her full attention._

"_Um, do ya think you could help me with somethin'?"_

_Katara narrows her eyes at him. Though the young waterbender had spent the majority of her first year in the Nativitas Academy and only coming home for holidays and breaks, she likes to think she still knows her big bro pretty well. And Sokka _never _asks for her help unless it's for something very, very serious, or very, very bad._

"_Whaaat?" she asks slowly, dragging the word out as if she'll be able to figure out what he wants from her by the time she finishes saying it._

"_I needa get into your school."_

_Katara blinks in surprise. "What?"_

"_I need to_—"

"_I heard you!" she interjects, crossing her arms, Suspicion Mode full on engaged now. "Why?"_

_Sokka scratches at the back of his neck_—_a nervous tic of his and a dead giveaway_—_while scuffing his left boot against the snow. "It's . . . complicated."_

"_I'm not doin' anything until you tell me why."_

"_What? But . . . Katara!" Sokka whines imploringly, eyes begging and hands clasped together in the universal begging sign. "You gotta help me, 'Tara!"_

"_But why, Sokka?" She uncrosses her arms now, her inability to figure out her brother's request showing clearly on her face. "It's not that special. It's just for benders, that's all."_

"_I _know, _Katara, that's why I need your help!"_

"_Sokka . . ."_

_Her brother steps up to her to clasp her shoulders in his mitten-clad hands. "I jus' . . . I need ya to trust me, okay?"_

_The look in Sokka's eyes is what really convinces her to help him. It's been a while since she's seen Sokka want something like this, like he needs it more than anything else in the world, like he can't quite live without it. And she kinda gets how he feels. She thinks everybody in her family does, especially after Mom . . . after she was . . . well._

"_Okay."_

_Sokka's lips pull up into a smile and he hugs her tightly to him. And somehow, for no real reason at all, Katara knows_—knows—_that Sokka was just thinking about their mom too. They don't cry, they've already done too much of that, but for once in a long, long time, they feel like they don't have to._

* * *

"_How're we gonna get you to the school?"_

"_Well, how did you get there for your test thingie?"_

"_M-Mom brought me there, remember?" Katara blinks away the tears threatening to well up in her eyes and spill over. Now isn't the time for that. "I had to show that scary man that I could waterbend before school started, so Mom got an airbender and his bison to take us there."_

"_Oh, yeah." Sokka purses his lips, scooching closer to Katara to share more body heat. He glances surreptitiously at Gran-Gran's sleeping form next to them and lowers his voice even more, the quiet and the topic at hand making him paranoid. "So did Dad get another sky bison to take you back after summer break?"_

_Katara nods._

_Sokka frowns._

"_I gotta show the scary man that I can bend _before _the year starts, right?" Another bob of the head. "And I needa get to the school without Gran-Gran or Dad knowing, right?" Katara nods a little more slowly this time, not sure where this is going._

_And apparently, neither does Sokka._

"_This is hopeless," he mumbles, hanging his head. "Even if I get into the school, I can't jus' stay there for a year! _Somebody's _gonna notice." Katara can't argue with that. She's been thinking the same exact thoughts, actually._

"_. . . Maybe we should ask Gran-Gran for help."_

"_WHAT?"_

"_Shhh!"_

_Next to them, the elderly woman stirs in her sleep. But doesn't wake. Katara fetches a relieved sigh before glaring at her brother. He has the decency to smile apologetically for his outburst._

"_Maybe she can help, Sokka."_

"_Are you _crazy?" _He gesticulates wildly as he speaks. "She'll never go for it!"_

"_You don't know that!" Katara whisper-shouts._

"_But . . . But she'll wanna know _why, _Katara."_

"_Yeah, well, so do I."_

_Sokka groans, the sound muted_—_he's not making the same mistake again; Gran-Gran waking up would be disastrous._

"_At least think about it, Sokka."_

"_Yeah, yeah, yeah . . ."_

* * *

"_You . . . want to go to the Nativitas Academy?"_

_Sokka nods his head so vigorously Katara worries that it'll pop off his neck._

"_And may I ask . . . _why, _child?"_

"_Um . . ." Sokka glances at his sister, at the expectant look mirrored in Gran-Gran's own eyes. He's talked about Zuko before. But he didn't share too much, didn't share how Zuko's probably the bestest friend he's had since . . . ever._

_He doesn't know why. It's just always seemed like Zuko was too good to be true_—_even if he was a jerk sometimes and never really talked much about his family and didn't_—

"_Well?" Gran-Gran urges._

_Right. Gotta focus. "Um, I . . . Gran-Gran, do you remember, um, Z-Zuko?" Saying his name feels weird and it bothers Sokka that it does. It bothers him even more when he wonders that maybe it sounds so weird because he hasn't seen the other boy for over half a year now._

_Realization dawns on the elderly woman's face, and something else too, but Sokka can't really place it, not that he really cares anyway. "Yes, I do remember him. And you want to go to this school . . . because of him?" she asks, yet her tone conveys that she already knows the answer to that question._

"_Y-Yeah."_

"_Really?" Katara pipes up from his side and he startles, almost forgetting that she was there. "The firebender?" Her face twists up in confusion. "_That's _what you couldn't tell me?"_

"_W-Well, it's embarrassing!" Sokka explains, rubbing at the back of his neck._

"_Pfft."_

"_Well," the old lady begins, "this is certainly interesting."_

"_So . . ." The Water Tribe boy risks a glance up at his Gran-Gran, hope displayed so clearly in every part of his face._

"_. . . How do you plan on getting in?" At the look on Sokka's face, the elderly woman holds up a hand, voice taking on a hard, stern edge. "I'm not saying that I'm going to let you do this, but . . . I will at the very least hear you out."_

_And that's really more than Sokka had even dared to hope for._

* * *

"_Whoa, look at that! And that! I think I see our hut from here!"_

_Katara rolls her eyes, tugging on her brother's shirt sleeve to pull him back into the saddle before he topples off. He just bats her hands away, going back to pointing out all the different things he can see from up here._

_He can't help but be excited. This is all rather surreal for him. Gran-Gran actually letting him go, Gran-Gran getting _Dad _to let him go, and Katara agreeing to this stupid plan_—_it seems like things are really going great for Sokka._

_He's got his bag of equipment next to him and he tugs it closer, as if it might fly away any moment now. This is his ticket into the Na_—_Nati_—_the Whatever Academy. He can't be too careful._

_He put a lot of thought into this. He's got the hose, the various bags of water, the tape, the rope, the ridiculously large cloak. This is gonna work. It has to._

_The man sitting atop the flying bison's head would glance back at the pair every now and then, gaze assessing and curious as he takes note of the things Sokka pulls out of his bag just to stuff back inside. Then repeat the process all over again._

"_Would ya stop that?" Katara chides, slapping his hands gently, motherly tone out of place with her seven years of age. But then again, it is Katara. "If ya keep takin' the stuff out, you're gonna lose somethin'."_

"_I can't help it!" Sokka exclaims, bouncing up and down giddily. "I'm jus' so excited! This is gonna be gr_—"

"_Hang tight, kids!"_

_Sokka grabs tight onto the edge of the saddle, head whipping back and forth frantically. "What? What? What's happening? Are we gonna die? I dun'wanna die, 'Tara, I dun'wanna die!"_

_The airbender throws his head back, laughing. "Don't worry, young man. Just a particularly strong wind."_

_Katara, having gone through this ordeal many times before, only watches with thinly veiled amusement as her brother screams helplessly. "Why are you so okay with this?!"_

"'_Cause I'm not a big baby."_

"_Yeah, well, you_—_NOOO!" Sokka makes a desperate grab for his bag as it goes flying off the saddle, but he's too late. "No! No_—_stop! We needa go back, we needa get_—"

"_What?" the monk asks over his shoulder, the wind whistling in his ears blocking out his hearing._

_Sokka wants to cry. He wants to punch something and cry and scream and kick the world in its proverbial family jewels. It's gone, all gone, save for the cloak that he's already wearing. Maybe if he jumps off, he can_—

"_Sokka."_

_The Water Tribe boy takes one look at his sister and crumples in her arms. "What 'm I gonna do now, 'Tara?"_

"_You'll figure somethin' out, Sokka. You always do."_

_Sokka hopes with everything he's got that his little sister is right._

* * *

"_Name?"_

"_S-Sokka."_

"_Good morning, Sokka." The man stands before Sokka, back ramrod straight and face stern. "I am Master Pakku."_

"_U-Um, good morning, Master Pakku."_

"_Bow!" a voice hisses in his ear as an elbow jabs into his side._

"_What was that?"_

"_N-Nothing!" Sokka says just a little too quickly and just a little too loudly, hurriedly bending over in a deep bow._

_He bites his tongue to keep from telling Katara, hidden under Sokka's large cloak and hands on his arms to guide his movements, to shut up._

"_Hm." Pakku's eyes narrow, carefully scrutinizing the little Water Tribe boy. "Is your . . . back okay?"_

"_What?" Sokka chuckles with just the slightest hint of hysteria. "Y-Yeah, no, it's fine! I just_—_I got a hunchback. From bending over so much. Because . . . I'm a bender! Haha, get it? It's_—'_Cause I bend over and I can waterbend and_—"

"_Yes. How . . . interesting," the elderly man eventually settles on, just somewhat put off by the eccentricity of this Sokka character. He clears his throat, sweeping one arm out to indicate the swimming pool to Sokka's right (they have a pool here?!). "Feel free to start when you're ready."_

"_R-Right." Sokka turns to face the body of water, taking a deep breath and inhaling the smell of chlorine._

_Meanwhile, poor Katara's got a bit of an . . . issue. The cloak is extremely old and ergo, dusty, and the dust keeps tickling her nose and she doesn't know if she can hold back from sneez_—

"_Ah-choo!"_

_Master Pakku arches an eyebrow, glancing curiously at the boy's . . . back. Because he's pretty sure that's where the sneeze came from._

"_Haha, ah-choo!" Sokka makes a big show of sneezing. "Allergies, amiright?"_

"_. . . Yes. Quite."_

"_Ah-choo!"_

_Now Master Pakku is _certain _it's coming from the child's back. Something isn't right here. He reaches out, grabbing the edge of the cloak to_—

"_GAH!" Sokka jumps back, twisting his body so that his back is facing away from Pakku._

"_What, what is it?" the elderly man blurts out, startled by the boy's sudden outburst._

"_S-Sorry, it's jus' . . . I don't let anyone see my back 'cause I got . . . I got a mole! Yeah! And it's really gross."_

"_A . . . mole?"_

_Encouraged by Master Pakku's slight grimace of disgust, Sokka nods his head forcefully. "Yeah! And it sneezes sometimes."_

"_. . . Apparently so."_

"_Yeah, so_—_HEY!"_

"_. . . Katara?"_

"_Um . . . hehe. Hi there, Master Pakku," the little waterbender greets nervously._

_The elderly man flings the cloak to the side before crossing his arms in front of his chest._

"_I want an explanation, and I want it _now."

* * *

Maybe Gran-Gran only let him go because she knew he would fail . . .

"Sokka!"

"Wha—huh?"

"Have you gone deaf, child?"

"S-Sorry, Gran-Gran."

"Hmph." The elderly woman huffs, rising to her feet. "I said are you finished eating?"

"Um, y-yeah," replies Sokka, handing over his unfinished stew. "Thanks, Gran-Gran," he mumbles distractedly. "I'm gonna go . . . read Katara's letter and head to bed, 'kay?" The old lady nods, watching as her grandson stumbles out of the igloo and toward their huts and frowning at the bowl of sea prune stew. _That child always finishes his food . . ._

Upon entering the tent he shares with his Gran-Gran, Sokka lights a sconce hanging from the hut's wooden frame. A lot of people would find this way of living to be a bit primitive, and Sokka wouldn't really argue with them. There are no phone lines here—well, there's that satellite phone in the communal igloo that everybody's got access to, but nobody really finds any use for it unless truly necessary—and it's colder than a . . . something really cold. Whatever. Sokka's in no mood to come up with stupid analogies at the moment. The point is, Sokka still loves his home, cold temperatures and disconnect from civilization and all.

After shedding off his coat and pulling on two pairs of long, thick socks, Sokka flops onto his sleeping bag, Katara's letter in hand. He scans through it—learning a lot of new techniques, met some kid named Aang, blah, blah, blah, Master Pakku's star pupil (_fuck, yeah, she is, _Sokka thinks smugly to himself, so utterly proud of his baby sis), blah, blah, blah. Then, at the end of the letter, just like every other letter she's sent ever since that stupid stunt nine years ago, "_Still haven't met this Zuko guy. Sorry." _And then her name, signed in that pretty, loopy handwriting of hers.

Sokka sighs, placing the letter aside and clutching at the pendant that is ever-present around his neck, fingers absently tracing the grooves and ridges of the two dragons. Sometimes, he'll dream about being a little kid again, and playing with that little boy, staring into eyes of molten ore. However, as he rolls onto his side and settles in to sleep, he fervently prays to whatever Spirits may be watching over him that he has a peaceful, dreamless sleep tonight.

* * *

**A/N: I'm beginning to think that maybe I SHOULDN'T have based this story on a modern AU . . .**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sooo . . . this is a lot shorter than normal. But I'm already working on the next chapter, so . . . yay?**

* * *

"Let's say you somehow find yourself unarmed and you're surrounded by a group of very dangerous, very armed men. What do you do?"

A hand raises in the air and Sokka gestures for the owner of the hand to speak. "What're they armed with?"

"Um. I dunno, use your imagination, kid."

Another voice pipes up to his right. "So can they have guns?"

"Uh, sure, I—"

"But then they'll just shoot you, _pow-pow, _and you're dead!" another little boy cuts in.

"Well, _duh, _if it was easy, it wouldn't be fun," a boy up front says.

"Well, _death _doesn't sound very fun either!"

And then, as if some Start-Arguing-Like-Crazy-and-Annoy-the-Hell-Out-of-Sokka switch is flipped, the group of boys begins bickering and shouting, each one raising their voices more and more to be heard over everybody else. Which means their voices just _keep _on rising. Like some cruel, unending cycle of torture.

"You're just a scaredy-cat deer!"

"Am not!"

"I ain't scared o' no guns!"

"Yeah, I'll just take 'em down with mah fists!"

"I'd just have my own gun hidden in m'pants or somethin'!"

"But you're _unarmed!_ That means ya don't _have _any weapons!"

"He never said we couldn't have secret weapons!"

"Why're we even doin' this?"

"I'm hungry!"

"I gotta pee!"

"I think my booger's frozen in my nose!"

Oh, dear Spirits. Sokka slaps the middle of his forehead, temples throbbing with an oncoming headache, frustration boiling and simmering just underneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed in the form of murder. Maybe a murder-suicide.

"GrrrAAAAAH! Everybody, QUIET!"

The noise gradually dies down, each child noting the utter redness of Sokka's face, and one even swears that he sees steam shooting out from the guy's ears.

Sokka inhales slowly and deeply—_relax, just relax, think about kitten owls, think about kitten owls_—before letting it all out in one big whoosh, feeling infinitely better. Or maybe he should say infinitesimally. Because he doesn't know how much more of this he can take.

"Okay. We're gonna try this ag—"

"Sir, Mr. Sokka, sir?"

"Yes?" Sokka questions warily, heaving a sigh.

"You're on fire, sir."

Sokka beams, feeling his mood lighten just a tad bit. "Well, thanks, kid. That means a—"

"No, I mean, you're _on fire._"

"What—_GAH, holy FU_—" Sokka catches himself just in time—he's trying to teach these kids how to fight, not swear like a sailor—as he jumps back from the campfire he'd set up, swatting at his pants leg before realizing, _duh, snow, EVERYWHERE, _and just rolling his leg frantically in the snow.

Thank Spirits for thick clothes. He definitely doesn't want a repeat of . . . well.

Sokka falls back into the snow and, now that the fire's been put out (literally), he just feels exhausted.

Seriously, what _is _he doing?

Is he really so bored that he's decided to take up training the little boys of his village how to be warriors? For a war that doesn't even exist? Not that he wants a war! 'Cause he doesn't, of course not, that'd be terrible, especially after one just ended not twenty years ago. It's a time of peace, and sure, there's still some strain, some tension, but at least the world isn't some giant bloodfest anymore. Sokka's just never realized peace was synonymous to boring.

He feels . . . restless. Like he needs to _do _something. There's something he needs to do but he just doesn't know _what._

Or maybe . . . maybe he just _wants _to have a purpose. Maybe he doesn't really have one beyond taking over his father's position as chief one day, marrying, having kids, dying . . . He can't even go fishing with his dad and Bato and the rest of the crew, having been entrusted with the responsibility of watching over the tribe while they're gone.

"Um . . . Sokka? You okay?"

Sokka groans, brushing the ridiculous thoughts away. Being chief would be a great thing! What's wrong with him? "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks, Bakaru." Climbing to his feet, Sokka dusts off any lingering snow and rights himself with a slight stretch. "Okay, kids, lesson's over. Go and . . . play, or whatever."

Groans of "finally" and whoops of joy are already fading away as the boys go scampering off, tiny feet leaving tiny tracks in the snow.

Sokka shakes his head fondly at their retreating figures. Sure, the little bastards can be annoying sometimes, but Sokka's pretty sure he couldn't have been any better when he was their age. After tossing snow on the campfire and stomping it out, Sokka's just about to turn on his heels and head over to Gran-Gran to see if she needs help with anything when he spots a dark plume of smoke somewhere off in the distance.

For a second, he thinks it's his dad and his crew, come back from their fishing trip. But the Water Tribe's fishing vessels don't spew that much, if any, smoke. In fact, they're steered by waterbenders from the North Pole, the two tribes having come to a trade agreement of sorts—the Northern Water Tribe gets those giant sea crabs they love so much and two-fifths of the catch; the South gets the rest of it.

No, that . . . that's a Fire Nation ship.

Even after spending a whole year in the Fire Nation and coming to the conclusion that, no, they're all not total bloodthirsty dickbags, Sokka's still got an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. As the large black ship draws nearer to the coast, Sokka's already on his way to get his Gran-Gran.

* * *

Kanna is busy preparing a large pot of seaweed noodles when her grandson comes barging into the communal igloo out of breath and clearly anxious. She frowns, the unease coming off Sokka's body in waves washing over her as well, and excuses herself from the other women who'd offered their hand in preparing lunch.

"Sokka, child," says the elderly woman as her feet carry her as quickly as possible to the boy's side, "what is the matter?"

"Fire," Sokka pants, hands on knees as he bends over to catch his breath, "Fire Nation."

Fire Nation? No. No, it can't be. He wouldn't. Not now, not . . . would he?

"They've . . . There's a . . . a ship. Coming . . . here, Gran-Gran."

"Say no more, child." And with that, Gran-Gran's ordering Sokka to gather everybody in the tribe and bring them into the communal igloo, post-haste. "Hurry, go!" she urges, shooing Sokka away with her hands when he makes no move to go.

"R-Right."

She stares at the opening of the igloo long after her grandson has disappeared through it, not really liking having to let him out of her sight like that. But he'll be back soon enough. He better. A worried frown creases her brow as she hurries on back to the women crowded around the hearth in the center of the igloo.

Perhaps herding everybody into one spot isn't exactly a wise decision—to wait here like sitting ducks for the Fire Nation men to appear—but with the men of the tribe gone, she can only adhere to the longtime adage of having strength in numbers.

But she sends up a small prayer to the Spirits of the moon and ocean as well, just in case.

* * *

As Sokka scurries around lassoing up the little rat bastards of the tribe—"Hey! _Hey! _Stop tha—_Stop that right now! _That is a symbol of my warriorness, _not _a leash!"—he can't help but wish that Katara were here. Or his dad. Or at least a waterbender who can _fight._

Sokka's a tough guy, and he is highly trained in the art of boomerang tossing, but a shipload of firebenders? That's tough, even for him, he'll grudgingly admit.

But he just has to remind himself that they're not here to fight. Because they're not . . . right?

No, course not. Well, maybe. Possibly. It's a gamble.

Shoving the last kid into the giant igloo, Sokka ducks inside after him and unhooks the corners of the thick moose deerskin flaps from the edge of the opening, letting them fall closed and cutting off the stream of sunlight from outside. He almost regrets it, the only light having been left being the strangely eerie and ominous glow of the hearth now that the sun can't get in.

He makes his way over to the cluster of women and children huddled around the fire, the women already doing a head count to make sure all the boys and girls are present. He offers a light, comforting touch to Gran-Gran's elbow as he pulls up beside her, but her face remains tight and her shoulders stay tensed.

"It'll be okay, Gran-Gran. It's a time of peace. Plus, what would be the point in attacking our tribe? The Northern Water Tribe is much prettier," he jokes, attempting to lighten the mood.

"It's not the tribe I worry about," the elderly woman sighs, placing a gentle hand on Sokka's own still holding her elbow, "it's you."

Before he can ask what she means—_is that a jab at my manliness? Pffft. I can handle myself just fine!_—he feels a tug at his coat sleeve. He glances down to find Bakaru staring up at him with wide blue eyes. "Are we gonna be okay, Sokka?"

The young tribesman feels his face soften, crouching down to be at eye level with the boy who seems to have grown attached to him in the time they've known each other. "Yeah, course we are, buddy. Don't worry 'bout it, 'kay?" Sokka reaches towards his belt to retrieve the object hanging there. "Anybody tries to hurt us, I'll just club 'em over the head with this," he says, miming bonking Bakaru over the head with his club, earning a small giggle from the little boy. "And if all else fails, I still got my trusty boomerang. Everything'll be fine, kid."

And Sokka really hopes that those firebenders don't go and make a liar out of him.

* * *

"How long until we reach the shore?"

"Not long, sir. Thirty minutes at the most."

"Good. You're dismissed."

With a bow, the Fire Nation guard backs away, returning to his post at the stern of the ship.

_What are you doing, Ozai?_

The Fire Lord smirks to himself as he stares out into the horizon, the smattering of huts and igloos pulling into view.

_This was never part of the plan. Not to mention how highly unnecessary_—

_I just want to pay the boy a visit. That's all._

_You already have the charm. What more can that boy offer you?_

Ozai breathes deeply through his nose, hands coming from behind his back to rest on the ship's railing. _What, indeed._


	6. Chapter 6

It's stupid, he knows it is, but Sokka still wishes he had his war paint with him. Rationally, he is very aware that slapping some make-up on his face won't really make him any stronger or any more intimidating, but it'd be . . . it'd be something. Something to take solace in, he supposes, a literal brave face. Of course, there also remains the fact that if those firebenders show up with the intention of simply talking and he runs out there whooping and hollering, club a-swinging, paint on his face, well . . . he'd look pretty silly, wouldn't he?

Still. He gets the feeling that those guys don't really want to just _talk._

Sokka begins fussing over his trusty boomerang, polishing it with the edge of his coat just to have something to do with his hands. He'd tried to convince Gran-Gran to let him go out there and greet the firebenders first, alone, but she isn't having any of that. And once Gran-Gran's made up her mind, Sokka would have an easier time mastering earthbending than getting her to change it.

Every few minutes or so, the young tribesman would glance back at the assembly of mothers wrapped protectively around their children from where he stands just a slight distance away from the mouth of the igloo, and his heart would clench.

He stuffs his boomerang back into his belt and draws his club, determination rushing through him like so much blood, pulsing in his veins and empowering him.

Nothing's going to happen to these people. Because he won't allow it.

He doesn't know how much time passes. Logically, he knows it's probably only minutes—but the tension, the apprehension, the foreboding lead weight in his gut, they all make it seem like hours. Hours until the footsteps are heard. Hours as he stands rigid, muscles coiled and legs spread in a fighting stance. Hours as the tribespeople residing in the igloo listen with bated breath to the _crunch-crunch-crunching _of snow underfoot, each step counting out the seconds until finally, _finally_, a pale hand is pulling back the flap separating them from the firebenders.

Two men, clad in the traditional Fire Nation military ensemble, enter first, flanking the igloo's opening. Just as another man—not a soldier though, not with the way he dresses and not with the way he carries himself so regally—comes striding in, Gran-Gran is shifting, moving towards her grandson. But he stops her, tamping down the selfish part of him that wants her to be there, to stand by him and support him. But he'll be damned if he lets her get into the line of fire like that.

A dead silence overtakes the room, enveloping them like some heavy, humid, uncomfortable blanket. Sokka's beginning to feel a little hot under the collar, probably partly due to his disquietude and partly due to the company of firebenders.

The man with the imposing carriage speaks first, eyes seemingly only for Sokka, and he finds it no small amount of disturbing. "I am Fire Lord Ozai, " the man announces, though it's evident by the way he says it that he feels no introduction should be needed for one of his title. _Tch. Figures he'd be royalty. _"Are you . . . Sokka?" The man spits out Sokka's name like it's poison, disdain present in the slight curl of his upper lip.

If Sokka were a bird, he'd be ruffling his feathers in indignation right now. "What do you want?" he barks, grip growing imperceptibly tighter on his club.

"I just want to talk."

"_Bullshit,_" Sokka snarls. "Why the whole entourage then? Are you seriously that threatened by a village full o' kids and women, or are they here for the slumber party?" Ozai opens his mouth to retort but Sokka stops him. "No, no! It'll be great, really. We'll all put on our nighties and gossip about boys all night long while we freeze to death because, hello, nighties don't offer that much protection from the c—" Sokka's rant is cut short by a blast of fire being sent his way and he jumps back with a loud, undignified yelp.

"Not so funny now, are you, _peasant?_"

Sokka growls, recomposing himself—_stupid, stupid, stupid, c'mon, get it together_—and stalking right up to Fire Lord Asshole. He's a good couple of inches shorter than the guy but he won't let that intimidate him.

"You and me, _right now,_" he challenges in spite of that distant voice in the back of his mind telling him that he doesn't stand a chance against a firebender. But whatever. Doesn't matter. He'd rather go down fighting than as a coward who stands by, quaking in his boots, while these bastards do who knows what to these innocent people.

The guards in the background move forward, ready to defend and attack, but Ozai waves them off, an amused smirk pulling at his lips. Sokka wants to punch that look right off his face. "You think you can best me in battle? How cute."

Sokka grits his teeth, a mantra of _don't punch him, don't be stupid, don't punch him, don't be stupid _bouncing around inside his skull.

"It's definitely a nice change of pace from the usual begging," the Fire Lord comments off-handedly. He pauses, mouth stretching into a Cheshire cat grin. "You are definitely much braver than your mother was."

There's a sharp intake of breath somewhere behind Sokka, probably Gran-Gran, but it doesn't really register in his mind. Nothing really registers in his mind. Except those words. Those words that send chills down his spine, leech the color from his face, steal the breath from his lungs.

"What are you talking about?" he eventually manages to say, voice coming out breathier and smaller than he's comfortable with. But he doesn't care. He just—He needs to know. He needs to know what the fuck this bastard is talking about. "Tell me!" he demands, voice stronger now as he grips the lapels of Ozai's robes. A split second after, the pointed tips of a pair of spears are aimed at his throat, pressing uncomfortably into his skin. But he doesn't care. He doesn't care because this man is saying that he knew Sokka's mother. He knew—How does—_Why_ does—

"I suggest you remove your hands from my person, _peasant,_" says the Fire Lord, tone icy and deceivingly calm.

"Tell. Me." When he doesn't answer, Sokka decides, y'know what?

Fuck it.

And takes a swing at him.

Before his fist can even connect to Ozai's face, he's being kneed in the gut and propelled backwards onto the ground by a hard shove to the shoulder, courtesy of the guard on the left. He rolls onto his side, winded, only to get the air forced out of him again, this time by a sharp kick to his midsection from Thing 2. He faintly registers a chorus of gasps from behind him and someone calling his name but he's too busy trying to _breathe_ to really care.

A pair of feet swim into his vision and his eyes trail up the body of the person attached to them to glare defiantly into hard, unyielding eyes.

"I usually don't strike deals with Water Tribe peasants," Ozai says, "but I'm willing to make an exception here."

"Fuck you," Sokka hisses, climbing to his feet. "Like I'd make a deal with some asshat like you." Then he spits into the Fire Lord's face. The man's nostrils flare heatedly and his eyes promise murder of the painful, bloody variety. But Sokka's kind of okay with that.

Because he just fucking _spit _in the _Fire Lord's face. _He's going down as a _legend _for this.

"You are _really _trying my patience here," Ozai says, obviously struggling to keep his temper in check as he slowly wipes the saliva off his face.

"Yeah, well, mine ran out when your two goons walked in here so looks like we've both had shitty days," Sokka snaps, trying to conspicuously wrap an arm around his torso—and failing miserably in the 'conspicuous' aspect of that maneuver.

Ozai doesn't say anything for a long, charged minute, as if simultaneously scrutinizing Sokka and engaging in a staring contest with him. But Sokka's had a lot of practice with this. Er, well, granted, he hasn't won a match yet with those damned otter penguins, but this isn't an otter penguin. This is a Fire Lord. A douchey one at that.

"I'd really hoped it wouldn't come to this," Ozai sighs eventually, the resignation lacing his tone completely at odds with the utter glee shining in his eyes. "Bring him in." Sokka's just about to break out into a little victory dance—_he blinked first! He blinked _first!—when the words reach his ears.

Him? Who the hell is 'him'?

Oh. _That's _'him.'

A man—but is he though? Is he really a man?—steps through the flimsy flaps hanging over the makeshift doorway. He's one helluva big guy, having to duck under the arch of the opening, and Sokka's pretty sure that the guy could easily crush his head to a pulp in between those massive tree-trunk arms. However, the most notable feature would have to be the tattoo of an eye right smack-dab in the center of his forehead.

But hey, aside from the bulging muscles and overall appearance of _murder, death, destruction_, he doesn't seem so bad.

"Pffft. Figures that you'd go and get someone else to do the dirty work for you." Sokka saunters on up to the guy, confidence oozing from every orifice. Well, it's actually false bravado. But they don't need to know that. "And what's this guy gonna do?" Sokka asks, gaze assessing as he looks the man up and down. "I like the whole strong and silent vibe you got goin' here. So, what? Gonna growl at me for a bit? Maybe slap me around for a while 'til I'm nice and bloody? And what's up with that thing on your—"

"He'll do _this._"

Before Sokka can even react, that weird third eye on the man's face is, well, _sparking _and then—

"_WHAT THE HELL, MAN?" _Sokka goggles at the giant fucking _hole _that's just appeared in the dome of the igloo, jaw scraping the ground, ears ringing from the explosion. Sunlight streams in from outside but it does very little to brighten the hostile environment. An eyebrow twitches. A vein pulses in his forehead. He whips around to face Sparky Sparky Boom Man—because that is his name, no one can tell Sokka otherwise—absolutely fuming. "Are you _fucking kidding me?_"

"Was that enough incentive for you?" Ozai drawls, and Sokka's seriously considering taking another swing at him, even with how unsuccessful the last attempt was.

"No, but I can tell you what it really was: _un-fucking-necessary!_" the Water Tribe boy seethes, just about foaming at the mouth right now. "Do you know how long it's gonna take to repair that?" he screeches, hands motioning wildly towards the gaping void where a fucking _wall of ice _used to be.

"No," the Fire Lord replies indifferently, "and I really don't care."

"What do you _want?_" Sokka asks yet again, but this time, his voice comes out sounding defeated and resigned, desperate, even, try as he might to hide it.

"All you have to do is come with me and your whole village will be spared," says Ozai, grinning openly now that victory is so close in his grasp he can _taste _it.

However, that just sounds way too easy. Sokka narrows his eyes, cautious and wary. "What's the catch?"

"No catch," Ozai replies with a small one-shouldered shrug.

"I don't believe you."

"I don't very much care what you believe, boy. I just need you to do what I say."

"Sokka." The Water Tribe boy turns at the sound of his Gran-Gran's voice. "Don't."

Sokka's head is throbbing painfully with indecision. He's absolutely torn. He'd rather eat his foot than go anywhere with this _scum, _let alone obey his orders. But the last thing he wants is for these people, his _family, _to get hurt. Gran-Gran, the kids who for some strange reason admire him yet go out of their way to bug the hell out of him on a daily basis, all the women who used to give him treats when he was younger and secretly hand him seconds when Gran-Gran scolds him for not leaving enough food for everybody else. They shouldn't have to deal with this; they _won't _have to deal with this. Not if Sokka can help it.

". . . I'm sorry, Gran-Gran."

"There's a good boy," Ozai sneers smugly, and his voice—no, his entire _existence_—grates on Sokka's nerves.

"Sokka, _no!_ You _cannot _go with this man!"

"I have to, Gran-Gran."

"Guards," Ozai says in parting, already making his way out of the igloo, "make sure to take his little toys away. We wouldn't want him to accidentally hurt himself."

"Sokka . . ."

"I know, Gran-Gran, I know," Sokka whispers, burying his face into her shoulder as he embraces her. "I'll miss you so much."

"Sokka, child . . ."

"I love you, Gran-Gran," he sniffles, gallantly keeping his tears from falling.

"I love you too, Sokka." She holds him in a vise-like grip, not wanting to let go. And neither does he. "Come back safe, do you hear me?"

"Yeah," he huffs with a watery laugh. "Yeah. Take care o' yourself, Gran-Gran."

And then he's being pulled away from his Gran-Gran, his family, his home, and lead out towards his future of being bound and chained down by the man he's come to despise most in the whole wide world.


	7. Chapter 7

Well, this is just insulting.

It's one thing to be dragged away from his home by some dickbag Fire Lord for . . . reasons still unclear. It's another to let him just roam around all willy-nilly onboard the ship.

Er. Well, when he puts it like that . . . The point is, it's like the bastard can't be bothered to tie Sokka up because he knows the Water Tribe boy won't even try to escape. Granted, there's not much that Sokka can do aside from jumping ship, and things haven't gotten _that _drastic yet. But still.

It's insulting.

"Do you _ever _stop talking?" Ozai groans, rubbing his temples, eyes closed, and Sokka draws satisfaction from the pinched, sour look on the Fire Lord's face.

"What, sick o' me already?" Sokka smirks, trailing after Fire Lord Asshole, hands in pockets. "I just thought it'd be nice to get to know my captive a li'l better, can ya blame me? I mean, to take away from Your Highness's royal time and have you show up to kidnap me personally, I must be somethin' pretty special."

Ozai sends a sharp glare over his shoulder at the young tribesman. "You are not a captive."

". . . Did I miss something here? Were you or were you not there when Sparky Sparky Boom Man blew a _hole _into my village's igloo?"

"Sparky Spar—who? You know what, never mind, I don't care." Ozai halts in his tracks suddenly, about-facing, and Sokka almost runs into him. "Before we reach the Nativitas Academy, you need to get something very clear through that thick skull of yours."

Nativitas Academy? Isn't . . . Isn't that—

"You are _not _a captive, do you understand, boy?"

And then it clicks. "Oh. Ohhh. _Ohhh._ You don't wanna get into trouble with your councilmen or whatever, right?" Sokka feels the corners of his lips draw up into a grin. "And what if I decide to tell them anyway all about how you kidnapped me and threatened a village of innocent women and children?"

"Then your precious grandmother will have a _horrible, _horrible accident in the near future." Sokka's smile disappears, opting instead to take residence on Ozai's face. "We could even make it look like a natural death. She _is _rather old, after all—"

"Okay, okay!" Sokka shouts, looking to the side. "Okay. I get it."

He doubts that anybody would find Gran-Gran's death to be anything short of suspicious, considering what had just transpired in his tribe. But he's not taking any risks. Not with Gran-Gran.

"Good boy."

As Ozai turns and resumes his trek towards the bridge of the ship, Sokka speaks the question that's been nagging at his mind all day. "How did you know my mom?" Though what he really wants to ask is _did you kill her?_

The Fire Lord pauses momentarily, but doesn't look back. "She did what she had to and I did what _I _had to." And with that, he's gone, long, heavy robes _swish-swish-swishing _behind him.

But all Sokka sees is red.

* * *

"_Sokka, take your sister and go find Gran-Gran."_

"_But_—"

"_Go!"_

_Shaken by his mother's outburst, Sokka grabs onto Katara's hand and does as he's told, glancing back every now and then to watch his mother's figure, standing tall and strong, slowly shrink away with every step he takes._

"_Sokka!" Katara cries, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. "We can't_—_We can't leave Mom like that!" she wails, forcing her words through a choked sob._

"_I know, 'Tara, I know," he says, crying too as he squeezes her hand ever tighter. "But she'll be okay. Mom's strong, she'll be okay. She'll be okay." And Sokka's not sure if he's trying to convince Katara, or himself._

_The little Water Tribe boy glances up at the sun and, guessing it to be around noon, takes a sharp turn and heads toward the big igloo rather than their tent. Gran-Gran would be helping out with lunch right now._

_When the two burst inside, screaming for their Gran-Gran, Kanna almost drops the pot of boiling water in her hands, so startled is she. Exchanging glances with the other women, she hands the kettle over to someone else before walking towards her two grandchildren._

"_What is going on with you two?" she asks, looking down at them, hands on their shoulders._

"_M-Mom_—_in trouble!" Sokka puffs out between long, greedy gulps of air._

"_Yeah!" Katara chimes in. "Told us_—_She told us t-to run and find you."_

"_Don't know_—"

"_Big ships coming_—"

"_Fire Nation_—"

"_So much smoke_—"

"_Slow down, little ones, slow down!" the elderly woman pleads._

"_Fire Nation ships are here," Sokka explains, finding it much easier to breathe now. "Mom and I_—"

"_I was there too!"_

"_Mom and _us," _Sokka amends, shooting his little sister a look that clearly says _we don't have time for this, "_were jus' playin' in the snow but then_—_then we saw these ships and Mom got real scared and she told us t' run an' find you."_

_Gran-Gran blanches, color draining from her face. "No," she mutters under her breath, seemingly to herself. "I thought that once we left . . . once we left he'd stop . . . but he's . . ."_

"_Gran-Gran?" Katara whimpers._

_The elderly woman seems to snap out of her thoughts, shaking herself. "You two are to stay in here, do you understand me?"_

"_Y-Yes, Gran-Gran," the siblings stutter in unison._

_Gran-Gran disappears and Sokka drags his younger sister over to the fire, plopping down to wrap his arms around her and let her rest her head against his shoulder._

"_I'm scared, Sokka."_

"_It's okay," he soothes as comfortingly as possible, trying to remember how Mom usually comforts him when he's upset, "don't be scared. Everything'll be okay, I won't let anything bad happen t' you."_

"_Promise?"_

"_Promise."_

_Kanna comes bustling in a few minutes later, the rest of the village members with her. Except Mom. Sokka rushes towards her, dragging Katara with him when she refuses to let go of his hand._

"_Where's Mom?"_

_Gran-Gran doesn't say anything, just pulls her grandchildren into a tight hug._

_The elderly woman knows she can't do anything to help Kya, that the only thing she can do is keep her grandchildren safe so that they may grow up to make their mother and father proud._

_And there is absolutely no way she can know when it happens, but she does. Kanna knows the exact moment that her daughter_—_her young, beautiful, caring daughter_—_is killed. Because her heart breaks like it's never been broken before._

_And so she cries. She cries into the hair of her grandchildren, the remaining legacies of her too young daughter. Parents aren't meant to outlive their children. And though Sokka and Katara will live long, full lives, Kya won't be able to watch it happen, won't be able to watch them grow up, won't be able to be there for her own mother's last moments on this earth._

_And so Kanna cries._

* * *

There's a cool, calming pressure against Sokka's head when he comes to, and he wants to lean into it, let it wash over him and make him forget. Forget everything—just for a moment, he doesn't want to remember—he doesn't want to remember his name, his family, his life, anything.

He just wants to forget.

But he can't. He can't. He loves his family. To forget them would be . . . unimaginable. So he needs to stop thinking like this and open his eyes.

The room is dim, thank Spirits for that, so his vision isn't assaulted by a blinding burst of harsh light when he cracks his eyelids open. He's laying on a cot—not a very comfortable one, but it's something—and there's a person leaning over him. A man. A waterbender healer. Which explains why his head doesn't hurt quite as much as he expected it to, as well as the soothing pressure against his temples. To the side stands a medical doctor, pen _scritch-scritch-scratching_ as she scribbles something down on her clipboard.

"What happened?" Sokka croaks, voice thick and mouth dry with thirst.

"Ah, glad to see you're back with us, young man." The woman beams at him. "I'm Dr. Yu."

"Doctor who?"

"Dr. Yu."

"Who?"

"Yu."

"Me?"

"No, Yu."

"Yeah, I know, me, what about me?"

"No, not Mi, Yu."

"Yeah, I got that part."

"Good."

Sokka's eyebrow tics, still as flummoxed and disoriented as before. He catches the healer biting down on his lip to keep from laughing.

"Now, Sokka, do you remember what happened?"

"Would I ask if I did?" he snarks, feeling just slightly bad for being so snappish. But even with the healer working him over—and WOW, does that sound wrong—he can still feel the aches and pains littering his body, like he's just one . . . big . . . _bruise_. "Did I get trampled on by a stampede of buffalo yaks or something? Holy _fuck,_" he groans.

"No, not quite," Dr. . . . Whatever replies. "You tried to attack the Fire Lord and he defended himself," she explains clinically, monotonously, almost boredly.

"He _defended _himself?" Sokka repeats incredulously. "With _what? _A _sledgehammer?_"

"You should consider yourself lucky he didn't burn you to a crisp," the doctor says, peering at him over her glasses.

"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind when I write him a thank you note." Sokka turns to address the healer, whom had been preoccupied with working his waterbender hand-glowy magic on Sokka's bare torso (still sounds wrong). "Whataya think it should say? 'Hey, thanks for not roasting me for dinner! I mean, sure, I'll probably be confined to my bed for the rest of the month due to my body being mottled with these giant boo-boos, but thanks anyway!'" Sokka finishes. "Whataya think? It sound sincere enough?"

The healer smiles, opening his mouth as if about to reply, maybe even make a joke, but promptly shuts it when he slants his eyes at the doctor. Then avoids looking at Sokka in the eye completely. The Water Tribe boy can't help but wonder if maybe he's being held here against his will too.

"Your injuries should improve within the next few days," the doctor informs him, then takes a seat at the desk set in the corner of the room. So . . . this is like a clinic? A medical cabin? Whatever.

When the doctor goes about her day, flipping through endless amounts of paperwork—what is up with that anyway? Sokka can't imagine her getting _that _many patients—Sokka attempts to catch the healer's eyes, but the man would only shake his head and adamantly refuses to strike up a conversation with the young tribesman.

Well, looks like Operation Jump Ship With Waterbender Healer is a no go (he really needs to come up with better names for these operations . . .).

* * *

"His Highness the Fire Lord would like me to inform you that we will be arriving at our destination in about half an hour and has ordered that you make yourself presentable within that time."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Sokka grumbles, rolling over in his sleeping sack. "Tell him I'll be there or whatev'r," Sokka slurs, voice thick with sleep. The sound of retreating footsteps ensues. Sokka stretches on his back, gazing up at the still dark sky, clouds dusted with shades of pink and orange as the sun rises.

Spirits, this is _way _too early to be waking up.

After being released from medical care, Sokka had been assigned a spot on the floor of the mess deck to sleep (he didn't get a hammock because he didn't "deserve" one or "wasn't worthy enough" or whatever. He's sure Ozai had thrown in some insults about peasantry in there). But it's not like he cares. Give him a pillow and some blankets and he can sleep anywhere.

Plus, looking up at the twinkling sky every night isn't so bad. It's kinda pretty, actually. He can't believe he hasn't tried it before.

A fresh bundle of clothes is set neatly beside his head—Fire Nation colors, of course, go figure—and Sokka almost considers just chucking them overboard. Hell, maybe even burn them—make it poetic or something. But he doesn't really have anything else to wear. His winter coat had been tossed once they'd reached warmer waters, Fire Lord Asshole claiming something along the lines of not wanting something so filthy aboard his ship.

Sokka sighs, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

This day is going to be interesting. Wonder what Katara will do once she spots him attending her fancy pantsy school. Wonder if . . . no, best not to think about that, Sokka tells himself. But it seems that his stomach has other ideas because it's flipping and flopping like a fish out of water.

He grabbles for the pendant laying warm and heavy—just like always—on the center of his chest, mostly out of habit, but almost instinctively.

He's done such a good job of putting that guy out of his head, what with all the excitement and hubbub that's been going on lately. But now . . .

Oh, yeah. This day is totally going to be interesting.

* * *

**A/N: Sooo . . . I cried while writing that little blurb with Gran-Gran.**

**I just wish I had the words and the talent and the skill to convey all the feels fighting to burst out of my chest right now. But I don't. So I hope that you can just . . . I dunno, _feel _Kanna's pain. I mean, Sokka and Katara lost a mom, and that's terrible, but I just . . . I mean, Kanna lost a daughter, y'know? And I've always had a soft spot for sad old people.**

**They're the bane of my existence.**

**Oh, yeah. And I shamelessly ripped off that "Yu, Mi, no, you, me?" thing from _Rush Hour 3. _But it was just. So. Funny. In the movie, anyway. My writing, eh, not so much.**


	8. Chapter 8

An insect buzzes around lazily in the stifling, stuffy, stagnant classroom, weaving its way between the rows of students' heads and evading the hands that swat at its person. Aside from the rare, knowledge-thirsty student sitting up front and diligently taking notes as the lecturer drones on and on about Air Nomad culture or something or other, many students have inevitably fallen victim to that widespread disease aptly dubbed HBS—Head Bobbing Syndrome. Symptoms include drowsiness, boredom, and—for which it earns its namesake—the bobbing of the head as one slowly drifts off into sleepy-sleepy dreamland only to jerk awake at the last second and repeat the process all over again.

Aang is no different.

He can feel his eyelids drooping, slowly sliding shut, as he leans his cheek against his fist, elbow acting as a brace against the desk. This is just _so boring. _He'd rather be outside playing airball, or watching Katara waterbend. Not that that last thing should be fun. But not that it isn't fun either! It's just also not not fun. Or—gah, whatever, he's confusing himself.

He looks askance at the clock hanging on the wall, groaning silently when he counts up the minutes left in class—which is _infinity._

Aang slumps in his seat, letting his forehead connect to his desk with a soft thunk. Maybe he can sneak a nap in during class today.

_Wonder what Katara's doing . . ._

* * *

As it were, Katara happens to be one of those endangered specimens that are immune to HBS and is sitting at attention at the front of her class, even raising her hand from time to time to ask questions. A lot of students can't quite believe she's human. She's got to be some kind of waterbending AI drone or something—who can be such a talented waterbender _and _get good grades in class? It's simply unheard of.

Well, they may be exaggerating just a teeny, tiny bit. But the point still stands.

And even though she's a bit bossy, got somewhat of a mother complex, and almost always kicks everybody's asses during waterbending practice, the students have to admit a sort of grudging respect for her.

"Now, who can tell me what they know about the Great War?"

Unsurprisingly, Katara raises her hand.

Also unsurprisingly, the professor calls on the poor, unsuspecting boy snoring away in the back of the classroom.

* * *

Toph sends another spitball flying, concealing her straw from view just as the teacher whips around to suspiciously scrutinize his snickering students. Toph just pretends to study the ceiling. Which is fooling no one considering how she's, well, blind.

"Did you hear me, Miss Beifong?"

"Huh, wha?" Her unseeing eyes snap down from not-perusing the cracks in the ceiling to look in the general direction of Mr. Wen's voice. "Oh, yeah, totally, teach. Heard ya crystal clear."

"Really?" the man deadpans, unimpressed. "Do repeat to me what I just said."

"Why? Did _you _forget already?"

"Oh, very funny, Miss Beifong," says the man, turning back around to continue writing on the chalkboard. "I just thought I should let you know that your straw is poking out of your coat pocket."

As the class breaks out into giggles, Toph just shrugs easily, leaning back to prop her feet up on her desk. "Well, ya caught me. Whatcha gonna do about it?"

Mr. Wen shakes his head, heaving a weary sigh. "This child is so lucky she's descended from nobility," he mutters to himself.

"Hey! I heard that!"

"And here I thought your hearing was getting to be as bad as your eyesight."

"Why, you—" Toph brings her foot down and lifts a chunk of earth from the ground, sending it towards her teacher's head. However, Mr. Wen was prepared for this and a wall of earth comes cropping up from the floor to counteract the projectile. He doesn't even bother turning around.

_I do not get paid enough for this, _he groans silently.

Toph grins almost maniacally. _Drats. I didn't get him this time either . . . but I will soon. Very, very soon._

* * *

_Basics, remember your basics._

Zuko dodges another blade of fire flying towards him, retaliating with a hard flick of his fire whip. Azula laughs, jumping lithely over the writhing rope of flame then letting loose another flurry of fire disks. Going on the defense, Zuko summons a wall of fire, leaving him briefly blind to his sister's whereabouts. But she makes herself known when she leaps straight through his shield and swipes at him with a fire dagger.

Fuck. He can't keep holding her off like this; he needs to go on the offense.

He executes a swift roundhouse kick, a stream of flames shooting out from the sole of his foot, only just managing to singe the tips of the ends of Azula's hair. But she doesn't seem to mind, smile only widening as she ducks and weaves and evades his barrage of attacks.

Zuko spots his father walking along the edge of the large training field where all the firebenders are currently dueling in pairs while Master Jeong Jeong barks advice and points out weak spots. Zuko feels even more determined now to beat Azula, no matter that Ozai doesn't seem to be very interested in watching the students train.

But then Zuko sees _him._

It's only for a split second, before he disappears into the main building of the school, but Zuko swears that it's . . . but it can't be. What would he be doing with Father? That wouldn't make any sense—plus, he was wearing Fire Nation clothing. It's been a while since he's seen Sokka but he remembers for a fact that the boy was from the Southern Water Tribe.

Noting Zuko's slight state of distraction and deeming it the perfect opportunity to end this little sparring session once and for all, Azula drives her fist into his side and sweeps his feet out from under him. He topples down to the unyielding concrete ground, landing flat on his back and completely at the mercy of his little sister as she aims a fiery fist at his head.

"You know, Zuzu," she sighs, cocking her head to the side, "this would be a lot more fun if you'd actually put up a challenge."

Zuko scowls at the pet name, at having lost to Azula yet _again, _at letting himself be distracted by some stupid Water Tribe peasant he hasn't even seen in over ten years. He pushes his shaggy bangs out of his eyes while simultaneously wiping his forehead free of perspiration, just somewhat envious of how Azula never seems to break a sweat during training.

"Rematch," he growls.

Azula smirks. "Okay. But it's your funeral, dear brother."

* * *

"I . . . I'm not quite sure I understand, s-sire."

Ozai arches an intimidating eyebrow. "What's not to understand?"

"W-Well, for one," the headmaster—what's his name again? Lin? Liu?—stammers, gesturing towards Sokka, "the boy isn't a bender."

"Neither are you," Ozai replies coolly, but there is a very distinct rise in room temperature.

"W-Well, yes, that's true," the man accedes nervously, "but I don't attend the school, I just run it," he points out. "Sire," he hurries to add at the look on the Fire Lord's face.

"Welp, looks like that's that," Sokka pipes up from beside Ozai. "Can I go home n—"

"Quiet, boy." Sokka snaps his mouth shut obediently, like some—some—some _polar dog._

The sooner he can get away from this bastard, the better.

"I need to have a private word with you, Mr. Liang," says Ozai—_Liang! _That's _what it was!_—and Sokka swears he can hear the man gulp.

The Water Tribe boy scoffs softly to himself. _This _guy is in charge of a whole school? But he's so . . . _meek._

The pointed clearing of a throat draws Sokka's attention and he turns to look at Ozai. He blinks. "What?"

The Fire Lord exhales exasperatedly. "I said a _private _word."

"Wha—_oh. _Yeah, gotcha. I'll just . . . be out in the hall then. Um . . . yeah." By the time Sokka finishes speaking, he's already through the door and in the much, much cooler hallway. He slumps against the stone wall beside the headmaster's office door, just so utterly exhausted.

He still has no idea what the hell he's here for. He also doesn't really know for certain but is pretty sure that Ozai had a hand in killing his mother. He _is_ completely certain, however, that he is extremely hungry and if he doesn't get some food in his belly, the growling monster inside it will come out and eat him instead. Or something. Whatever, he's hungry; his thoughts don't make much sense anymore.

Sokka is pulled out of his musings of steamed fish and fried possum chicken—maybe some seal jerky and, ooh, boiled whale meat—mmm, and some of that delicious tentacle soup—

"_AHEM._"

Sokka snaps out of his daydream (again) to look up at Ozai.

"You are now enrolled in the Nativitas Academy. Your chambers are located in the wing of the school reserved for waterbenders—" Sokka's ears perk up at this piece of information. "—and you will be attending the corresponding classes." The headmaster comes stumbling out of his office, shaking like a leaf and sweating up a storm, to hand Sokka a slip of paper. "A uniform will be provided for you—"

"Aw, what, why?" Sokka whines.

"—and in lieu of attending practice along with the waterbenders," Ozai continues seamlessly, "you will be reporting to my personal chambers in the upper east wing. Questions?"

". . . Can I have some food now?"

GAH, no, fuck, damn it! That is _not _what he was supposed to say. He was supposed to ask why the hell Ozai's got his own personal room in the academy—though maybe all the leaders of the nations have one, it _is _a bending school after all, what better way to unite the nations?—or why the hell Ozai wants him to show up in his fucking room or even why the hell Fire Lord Asshole went to so much trouble just to get him into this school.

But he hadn't. He hadn't asked any of those questions. He'd asked for food.

But then again, what with that wonderful, wonderful scent wafting through the air from what Sokka can only assume is the cafeteria, the Water Tribe boy's not quite sure he can complain . . .

"Mr. Liang, if you'll get the boy some food. I'll be in my chambers if you need to contact me," Ozai says, already traipsing off. The subtext of _try not to need to contact me _rings through loud and clear.

The headmaster sags with relief, the breath he'd apparently been holding being expelled with such force, Sokka's sure he would've blown himself away if he were an airbender.

"So . . . how 'bout that food then?"

A sigh. "Follow me, boy."

Why is everybody talking to him like he's some fucking polar dog? _Quiet, boy. Follow me, boy. Sit, boy. Come! Stay! Stop talking!_

Whatever. This guy can talk to him however the fuck he wants. Long as Sokka gets his fix of meat.


	9. Chapter 9

Okay, so all he's got to do is turn left here and—wait. Wait, no. No, wait, what? No! He _just _passed through here five minutes ago. He knows, because he recognizes that creepy dragon head statue. Or—er, wait . . . maybe that's a different creepy dragon head statue?

SPIRITS, ALL THESE HALLWAYS AND ALL THESE STATUES LOOK EXACTLY ALIKE.

Sokka stalks up to one of the many countless stone figures lining the long, winding halls of the firebender wing and glares at it. "Stop _watching _me, you creepy bastard!"

The statue says nothing.

"You're makin' fun of me, aren't you?" Sokka growls.

The statue says nothing.

"Oh, I'll show you, Mr. I'm a Statue So I'll Just Laze Around All Day and Scare the Crap Out of Innocent People!" And with that, Sokka latches himself onto the the sculpture like some outlandish red pentapus and begins ramming his fist against the top of its head. "Ha! Take that! And that! Oh-ho, not so tough now, are ya? _Are ya?_" Sokka pauses, cupping one hand over an ear as if to listen for something. "What's that? Are you _sassing _me? That's it!" Disentangling himself from the the marble piece, Sokka braces himself with one foot planted on the ground and the other on the wall beside the statue. Then, gripping the sides of its head in his hands, yanks with all his might.

No dice.

Okay, let's try this again. One, two, _heave._

Bupkus.

"Oh, so you're puttin' up a fight, huh? Well, once I'm through with y—"

"What are you _doing_?"

Sokka squeals, losing his grip and falling backwards. He lets a couple of curse words slip past his lips as he rubs his ass, grimacing. He also silently curses the person who'd been so rude as to intrude on his little wrestling match with the creepy statue—that he was totally and completely winning, nobody can say otherwise.

. . . Spirits, he really _has _lost his marbles.

"What are _you _doing?" Sokka shoots back, already much too moody and grumpy to want to deal with anyone right now.

"Watching an idiot lose in a fight to a priceless sculpture."

"_Priceless?_" Sokka scoffs, brushing himself off as he climbs to his feet. "There are a million of these things! I bet you could just scooch one over to take its place and people would be none the w—"

Oh. Oh, _wow_.

_Those eyes._

"You're staring."

Oh. Um. Oh, fuck. "S-Sorry, it's just—"

"I know, okay?" the person snaps. "My face is scarred, I get it."

What? What is he _talking _ab—oh. _Oh. _Sokka hadn't even noticed that. Er, well, no, he kind of did, he's not _blind_, it's just . . . it doesn't really, well, _matter_. It's not like it detracts from the utterly mesmerizing color of the guy's eyes and WOW, when did Sokka become such a girl? "N-No, no! That wasn't what I was staring at, I swear," Sokka assures the other guy, waving his hands in denial.

"Really," says Scarface (er, maybe that nickname _is _a bit insensitive, even if it _is _just inside Sokka's head), voice flat. "Then what _were _you staring at?" he inquires, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Your—" Sokka stops short, realizing at the last minute that _oh, nothing, I was only staring into your glowing golden eyes 'cause they're just so damn-darn pretty _probably won't sound any better than the guy's original assumption.

"My _what?_"

"Your . . . hair?" Sokka finishes lamely.

"Right," the guy snorts, "and you're not an idiot," he says sardonically.

"Hey!" Sokka exclaims, most very highly offended. He steps into the guy's personal space to jab a finger into his sternum. "I will have you know, _jerkbender, _that the whole sarcasm schtick is _my _thing."

"Really? Says who?"

The Water Tribe boy pulls back, placing his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest. "You can call me Sokka," he says, tipping his nose up, "the Meat and Sarcasm Guy."

Something shifts in the firebender's countenance then, annoyance draining away to be replaced with surprise and . . . something else. "Sokka?" the firebender echoes, stunned.

"Well," Sokka grins, whirling on his heel to begin pacing importantly, practically preening at this point, "judging by the look on your face, you've obviously heard of me. But then again, I am a pretty swell guy, it'd be hard not to notice someone like me," he says, oblivious to the other's internal emotional struggle. Sokka also conveniently forgets the fact that he's only been officially attending this academy for three hours and has done nothing of significance except stuff himself to bursting with food and get himself lost while searching for Ozai's room.

But whatever.

"I swear I saw him though!"

"Look, Katara, I know you miss your brother, but are you sure you're not just imagining things?"

"Yes, I'm sure! I know my brother when I see him, okay?"

"But what would he be doing in the firebender wing?"

"I don't kn—_Sokka!_"

And whatever the jerkbender was about to say—if he was going to say anything at all—is effectively cut off when Sokka is assaulted by a giant blob of blue accessorized with hair loopies.

"Sokka! Oh, my Spirits, what are you doing here?" she squeals, crushing him in her arms.

"K-Kata—_Katara, can't breathe!_" he wheezes.

"Oh!" She pulls back but refuses to let him go, holding him at arm's length by the shoulders. "Spirits, Sokka, why aren't you at home? How's Gran-Gran?" Then her smile falters slightly. "What's wrong? Did something happen? Is that why you're here? Is it Gran-Gran? Or—Or Dad? Sokka—"

"Whoa, whoa, _hey, _calm down, 'Tara." Sokka grabs her hands and gives them a little squeeze. "Nothing's wrong, everything's fine, okay?"

She relaxes, face brightening once more. "When did you—_How _did you—" She pauses, finally taking a good look at her big brother. "Why're you wearing Fire Nation clothes?"

As Sokka hems and hums and racks his brain for a plausible explanation to Katara's deluge of half-verbalized questions (he really hadn't expected to see her this soon, especially since the waterbenders should be training right now), the little guy with the weird arrow tattoos comes to his rescue.

"Um, hi! I'm Aang!" he greets happily, walking up and sticking a hand out to Sokka.

The Water Tribe boy grins, glad for the distraction as well as finally meeting the guy that Katara's been talking so much about. "Hey, I've heard a lot about you!" Sokka says, grabbing the proffered hand and shaking enthusiastically.

"R-R-Re-e-e-ally?" Aang says, voice and body vibrating with the force of the handshake.

"Yeah!" Sokka exclaims, releasing the poor airbender from his monster handhold. "Katara talks a lot about you."

"Sokka!" Katara squeaks just as color floods Aang's face.

"What?" Sokka asks, clueless. He watches his sister twirl the end of her braid between her fingers and the airbender looking absolutely everywhere except at—oh. _Oh. _OHHH. "Oh, I get it!" Sokka snaps his fingers, eyebrow quirking slyly. "You two are an item, aren't you?" And Sokka's about to delve into his big brother spiel about hurting anyone who hurts his little sister and doesn't treat her right when—

"No! N-No, no, of course not!"

"That's ridiculous!"

"Yeah, I mean, he's—him, and I'm—me, and—"

"Wait, what's wrong with me?"

"N-Nothing, Aang, I was just saying—"

"No. No, I get what you were saying, Katara. It's okay."

"No, wait—Aang!" But he's already gone and disappeared around the corner.

Sokka observes the interaction with puzzlement and confusion. He blinks. "Um. What."

Katara turns to him, absolutely fuming. "You jerk! Look what you did!"

"Wha—_me? _What did I do?!" he shrieks.

"You just—Can't you ever keep your trap shut, Sokka?"

"What?! How was I supposed to know that you guys weren't—hey, _ow!_"

"I can't believe I'm related to you!"

"Katara, wait! No, don't—GAH, stop! Would you put your damn water whip awa—_ow!_"

"Get back here, Sokka!"

"_NO! _I refuse to be abused in such a manner and _how much water do you _have _in there?!_"

"A lot more than this if you don't stop running away from me!"

"Just—Don't you have practice right now, Katara?!"

"Oh, this is practice enough, trust me!"

And so engaged are they in their bickering, neither of the siblings take notice of the quiet, lone firebender slipping away into the shadows.

* * *

"Running around unsupervised, utilizing the sacred art of waterbending for _fun, _and just all around making a ruckus and bothering everybody around you!"

As the pair of siblings sit in the two chairs before the headmaster's desk, enduring his lecturing and dripping water all over the carpet and upholstery, Sokka can't help but feel like a miserably wet cat owl.

It was still totally worth it though.

He can't remember ever having so much fun, the greatness of it all amplified by the fact that it was with his sister. Katara's always been so uptight and serious, especially after Mom, and it's just nice to see her let loose for a change. Even if it does get the both of them in trouble.

Sokka sneaks a look askance at his little sister and they both have to bite their lips to contain the giggles bubbling up in their chests.

"—and in the firebender wing, no less! Fire Lord Ozai has been kind and generous enough to grace us with his presence, the least you—yes, _you, _boy—could do is try to appreciate th—"

At this, Sokka does bark a short, curt laugh. Katara sends him a funny look but he ignores it.

"That's right," Sokka says, standing up to lean with his hands on the desk, "the Fire Lord _is _here, and I'm late for my appointment with him. How do you think he'll feel when he finds out that _you're _the reason why I've kept him waiting?"

Now Katara's just openly gaping at him.

The headmaster flounders for an instant. "W—But you—"

Sokka shrugs, sitting back down and crossing his legs while he leisurely inspects his nails. "I got lost. My sister was helping me."

"B-But the water—"

"She's a waterbender," Sokka says, as if that explains everything. Which he's well aware it doesn't. But seeing the headmaster's hesitation and disorientation, the Water Tribe boy presses his advantage. "So if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go attend to His Royal Highness," Sokka has to resist the urge to gag at the title, "and escort my dear, dear sister to waterbending practice." Then, before Mr. Liang can regain his voice, Sokka's dragging Katara out into the hallway, but not without adding in parting, "Oh, and if you'll just get the cafeteria ladies to give me seconds for every meal, I won't tell the Fire Lord about this little . . . hiccup." And _then _he walks out.

"_Phew,_" he breathes when the door slides shut, dramatically swiping a hand across his forehead.

"Sokka . . . what just happened in there?"

Aw, hell.

* * *

"Honey, I'm home!" Sokka announces as he pops his head through the crack between the ornate oak doors to Ozai's chambers. He's greeted with silence and a beautifully furnished space that is distinctly devoid of any people. Unsure of whether he should wait inside or outside, he begins considering referring to that handy-dandy decision-making tool once utilized by his great ancestors.

Eenie-meenie-miney-mo.

"What are you doing here?"

"GAH!" Sokka jumps back, only just avoiding getting his fingers crushed as the massive, cumbersome doors slam shut. Turning to address the stupidly familiar voice, the Water Tribe boy finds himself almost nose-to-nose with an equally stupidly familiar face. "Oh. It's you."

Jerkbender doesn't seem to notice that Sokka wants absolutely nothing to do with him and only repeats his question. "_What _are you doing here?"

"The hell does it look like I'm doing?" Sokka says, dragging open the doors again—seriously, why are these things so heavy? "I'm milking a goat gorilla." Deciding that he'd rather wait in the empty, lonely room than with this guy, Sokka steps inside. Only to have Jerkbender follow him in. "Um, is there a reason you're stalking me? I mean, I get that I'm attractive, but—"

"Shut up," Jerkbender sneers, brushing past Sokka—_wow, he is _really _warm_—and heading towards a door off to the right of the room. "I'm here to see my father. Not that it's any of your business."

Father? _Father? _So this guy is . . . "You're Ozai's son?" he utters astonishingly. Asshole, Jr. doesn't acknowledge Sokka's outburst. "Pffft," the Water Tribe boy mutters to himself, "no wonder you're such a dick. Like father, like son."

"_What did you say?_"

Sokka opens his mouth to reply and in that split second, various scenarios flash through his mind's eye. One, he repeats what he just said and gets burned to a crisp. Two, he lies, gets called out on it, and gets burned to a crisp. Three, he tries to run and gets burned to a crisp.

Hmm, choices, choices . . .

Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately—Sokka is saved from having to answer when the door Jerkbender had been stomping off towards is suddenly thrown open, and out steps Ozai, the bearer of asshole children. Er, well, he probably didn't bear the children himself. Bearer of asshole sperm? Ew, wait, no—Spirits, why does Sokka _think_ these things? As if he needs _more _weird thoughts in his head.

"What is all—oh." Ozai's eyes harden when they land on Sokka. "You. You're late. And why are you _wet?_"

"Oh, well," Sokka begins, "my sister and I got into a bit of a . . . let's say an _accident. _With water. And, well, she decided that since I wouldn't tell her about why I'm—er, well, _here_—then she wouldn't dry me off with her waterbending powers or whatever. Which is highly unfair since _I _don't even know why I'm here and the only reason I even got away from her witchy clutches in the first place was 'cause she had pract—"

"Enough!" Fire Lord Asshole commands with an upraised palm and eyes squeezed shut. "Your blathering is quite . . . _bothersome._"

"Hey!" Sokka cries out at the same time that Jerkbender blurts out, "You _know _this person, Father?"

A sigh. "Zuko, leave."

"But . . . Father, I needed to talk to—"

"I said leave!"

There's a pregnant pause where the young firebender's indecision is clearly displayed on his face as he contemplates whether to disrespect his father by speaking up anyway or simply obeying and leaving.

But Sokka can't really be bothered to care. Because—Because he's sure that Ozai just called Jerkbender—but that's not—in the hallway earlier, did he—_those eyes_—but how does—

Ultimately opting to just do as he's told, Jerkb—_Zuko_—begins trudging out of the room, eyes downcast and refusing to meet Sokka's own searching ones. Sokka wants to reach out, to grab his arm and—and—and just—fuck, he just—

He wants to demand why Zuko never told him he was the fucking _Prince _of the fucking Fire Nation or how he got his scar or why he's not wearing that necklace that Sokka gave him all those years ago or if he even remembers who Sokka is. He wants to tell Zuko that he's missed him so fucking much even though he has no idea why, that he's never even once taken off the pendant Zuko gave him, that every time he looks at the slight discoloration of the skin on his torso, he thinks of Zuko, but not because he's mad, not because he hasn't forgiven him, but because it's such a big reminder of Zuko and how he came to the hospital and stayed with him and gave him the most amazing week of his seven-year-old life, even if he was the one responsible for putting Sokka there in the first place.

Sokka wants to do all of that. But he doesn't do any of it. And then Zuko's gone.

"Come, boy. We have work to do."


	10. Chapter 10

Everything's happening too much, too fast. Why can't—Why can't the world just _stop _for a minute? Just—Just a minute. Sokka just wants a minute to himself, to try to understand and make sense of and process everything that's been happening, what he's feeling—everything. All of it.

"Did you hear me, boy? I said, _come._"

Sokka stands his ground, fists clenched at his side. "I am _not _your fucking lapdog, Ozai. I won't just bow down and kiss your feet and do everything you tell me to just 'cause you're the fucking Fire Lord. Because you're not _my _ruler. So either tell me what the fuck is going on or I'm leaving."

Ozai's face remains impassive and expressionless as he slowly strides towards Sokka, every step deliberate and calculated, as if he were stalking prey. But Sokka doesn't back down, doesn't look away. The Fire Lord comes to a stop just within touching distance of the Water Tribe boy.

Then he slaps Sokka clear across the face.

Sokka's head jerks to the side with the force of it and rage boils up inside him. "You fucking ba—" Sokka doesn't finish the insult, doesn't go through with punching Ozai in the face, doesn't breathe. Because he can't. He can't because it's like there's an iron fist clamped around his heart that's squeezing it and crushing it and he falls to his knees, hands scrabbling desperately at his chest to—to do something, _anything, _to alleviate the pain.

Meanwhile, Ozai stands before him, apathy gradually morphing into exhilaration. "It works," he breathes, eyes shining with exuberance. "It _works._"

Sokka gasps, curling up on his side now as an ache explodes in his head, like the sensation of a sword being run right through it and out the other side. Fuck, but it hurts, everything hurts—red spots begin dotting his vision as his lungs scream for air, for oxygen. His heart feels like it's trying to beat its way out of his chest while simultaneously not doing anything at all and just letting him die, wither away into nothing. Sokka can only pray for unconsciousness to come drag him under.

And thank fuck when it does.

* * *

_What is the meaning of this_, _Ozai?_

_You said you needed a human vessel. What does it matter whose body it is?_

_That was _not _the deal, you double-crossing _fool!

_Oh, yes, I'm so sorry. Please, pardon me for my strong attachment to my _soul, _as well as my desire to _keep it.

_So you would sacrifice your own son for your own selfish gain?_

_. . . His life is inconsequential. And as it is, his abilities would be better utilized by someone like you rather than be left to waste away._

_. . . Your soul is truly a canvas of darkness, Ozai. I can honestly say that it is a shame I will not be having myself a taste of it._

_Does that mean you agree to this change in plans?_

_. . . Is this why you brought the Water Tribe boy here?_

_Yes. I'm genuinely surprised you didn't figure it out sooner._

_. . . Very well. I accept. But do not cross me again, Ozai. Not if you want to live to see the day that all your hard efforts come to fruition._

_I wouldn't dream of it._

* * *

". . . can't do . . . haven't seen . . . doesn't recognize . . ."

Sokka can hear a voice talking—a nice voice, a raspy, soothing sort of voice—but he can't make out the words. They keep swimming in and out of coherency, and trying to decipher them only magnifies his raging headache, so he puts a swift stop to that.

Instead, he just lets the soft voice wash over him and fill his head with warm, easy thoughts of happiness and contentment and waking up every morning with a strong arm wrapped around his waist—d'uh, wait—

"Yes . . . Good night, Uncle."

Silence supervenes and Sokka is quietly debating whether he should open his eyes and announce to Smooth Voice that he's awake or just try to go back to sleep. Maybe the latter. After today, sleep sounds—oh, wait, there goes his stomach. Spirits, how long has it been since he's eaten? This morning? That's a good . . . er, well, Sokka doesn't really know how long ago that is considering how he has no idea what time it is _now. _Still. Anytime is a good time to eat. You can never go wrong with food, after—

"You can stop pretending to be asleep now."

Sokka bristles, both embarrassed and startled at having been caught. He experimentally cracks a single eyelid open to survey his surroundings. He's still in Ozai's chambers, but it's strangely . . . cozier now. Definitely cozy. There's a fire crackling and blazing in the fireplace across from where he seems to be situated on a very plush sofa, wrapped up in a cocoon of velvety soft blankets. There's a glass coffee table separating the couch and the fireplace but Sokka's a lot more interested in what's _on _the table. He sniffs. Is that—No. No, it can't be. _Sniff sniff._

It is! It's a bacon and tuna sandwich!

Sokka jolts upright, but the damned blankets get all tangled up in his limbs and—fuck, where did his hand—wait, is that his foot or his hand?—Spirits, these blankets are _really _intent on sucking him back down into the couch cushions, aren't they?

There's a soft chuckling at his feet and his head whips around to find—who else?—Zuko sitting there.

Sokka spares a second to bemoan the utter unfairness of the universe. Can't a guy catch a break for once?

"Do you need help?" Zuko asks from his spot on the couch, voice a lot softer and a lot less harsher than their previous recent encounters.

"No," Sokka grumbles petulantly, managing to free at least one hand from the clutches of the comforters. Whatever. He only needs the one to eat anyway. He digs happily into the delicious, delicious sandwich, taking large, greedy bites and barely granting enough time to swallow before he's taking another chomp out of it. He moans in delight, much too elated to even consider feeling embarrassed or abashed.

"I see you still eat like a vacuum hose."

Sokka almost chokes on his meal, turning to his left to finally _really _look at Zuko. And maybe that's a mistake. Because all these emotions are whirling around inside of him, warring to dominate his visage, and he can _feel _the muscles in his face twitch and jerk as they shift to accommodate each one that rises to the surface.

Zuko's own face colors and he averts his gaze, apparently preferring to stare into the fireplace instead. "S-Sorry," he mumbles.

"N-No," Sokka says, turning to study the fire as well. "It's okay, that just . . . surprised me. Is all."

Aaaaand now it's awkward. Sokka busies himself with chewing, just slightly afraid that if he doesn't occupy his mouth somehow, he's going to say something stupid.

"Why'uh you doin' thiff?" _Damn it!_ Katara always did say that he should break that habit of talking with his mouth full . . .

Zuko startles, only allowing himself a brief peek at Sokka. "I . . . I just . . . Father called me in. And told me to stay with you until you woke up." Zuko clears his throat, eyes still staunchly focused on the pit of flames across from them. "I could, um, leave. Now. If you—"

"No!" Sokka says just a little too quickly. "I—I mean, you don't, um, have to. Go, I mean. Or stay! You don't have to. Do that. Either one of those things. Um." With every uncouth utterance that tumbles out of Sokka's mouth like some awful case of word vomit, Zuko's eyebrows inch ever closer towards his hairline. But there's this slight quirk to his lips too. So Sokka's going to count that as a win.

"I'll . . . stay then. If that's . . . okay?"

Sokka only nods, not trusting his stupid mouth to actually say something _not _stupid should he open it. He goes back to devouring his sandwich, feeling much better now that there's food in his belly and the quietude isn't quite so tense or uneasy.

It's nice, he realizes. To just sit here. With—With Zuko. Despite all these questions rattling around inside of his skull—the main one being _WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED WITH OZAI EARLIER?_—Sokka is content to just sit here. Just sit here and enjoy Zuko's presence.

Except now that he's finished with his sandwich, his mouth is much more inclined to speak. So maybe he should just excuse himself and leave. Now. Before he makes even more of a fool of himself.

"Did you like it?"

It takes Sokka way too long to realize that Zuko's talking about the sandwich. "Um, yeah. It was—great. It's my favorite, actually."

"Yeah," Zuko says, voice almost inaudible and impossible to read. "I know. I remember."

"Oh. R-Right."

With the lull in conversation—if that little blundering exchange can even be called a conversation—Sokka begins sifting through his brain to try to come up with something to say. And ends up with diddly squat.

Just . . . something simple. Something simple. "Um, so who were you talking to earlier?"

"My uncle."

Oh, yeah. Sokka remembers that guy. Really nice, really friendly—drank tea every day that he and Zuko visited Sokka in the hospital. "Is he here right now?" Sokka twists his head around to search the dim room for a jolly, tea-drinking man.

"No, I, uh, I called him."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Sooo . . . where's Fire Lord Assh—_ahem, _I mean, your dad?"

"He's . . . out."

"Will he be back soon?" Sokka asks worriedly, though trying very hard to pass it off as casual indifference.

"No. Probably not."

"Oh. Okay." This time, he doesn't even bother hiding the relief coloring his tone.

"Yeah."

Spirits, but this is uncomfortable. Maybe he really should just go. Plus, he still has no idea what time it is and Katara could be on a waterbending rampage right now looking for him—

"I've really—"

Sokka is pulled out of his thoughts by Zuko's voice, and he waits expectantly for him to finish what he was going to say.

But he doesn't. He just shakes his head slightly, a deprecating smirk on his lips. "Never mind."

He still won't look at Sokka. And that bugs him. Until the Water Tribe boy realizes that it's not because Zuko doesn't want to look at Sokka, but because . . . because he's trying to hide his scar.

"Hey," Sokka whispers, nudging the firebender with a toe. "Don't do that."

Zuko slants his eyes at him, confused. "Do what?"

"Don't . . . Don't hide."

The firebender tenses abruptly, voice taking on a hard edge. "I'm not hiding."

"Yeah," Sokka says, sitting up to slide closer to the other boy, "you are." He reaches out hesitantly, tentatively, and, when no protest comes, lightly grabs Zuko's chin to turn his head towards him. They're so close—_so, _so close—that Sokka can feel the firebender's warm breath mingling with his.

His eyes trace the large blemish on the left side of Zuko's face, fingers itching to do the very same but holding back because that would be crossing the line. And the _questions. _So. Many. Questions.

Does it hurt? How did it happen? Was it a firebending accident? When did it happen? Can he still see out of that eye? Can he just touch it anyway even though he knows he shouldn't?

Sokka's gaze then roams over Zuko's cheekbones, along the curve of his jaw, and—Spirits, it must be the lighting in the room or something—the guy _is _a firebender, it's only natural that he'd look absolutely amazing in the firelight. And those lips. If he just . . . If he just leans in a little closer, he can . . .

"Sokka," Zuko murmurs softly, his own golden eyes locked on the other's lips. The sound sends shivers down Sokka's spine. The good kind. The really, really good kind. Fuck, just . . . just a little— "I think you should leave."

Wait. Wait, what?

Sokka jerks back, just a tad bit confused. "Wha—Why?"

"It's . . . You don't—" Zuko pulls away with a noise of frustration, getting to his feet and stepping away from Sokka as if being near him right now is absolutely unbearable. "Just go, Sokka."

Okay, now Sokka's a lot confused. Because were they or were they not totally about to kiss just now? Did he—Maybe he misread the signals or something. Fuck. Spirits, what is he doing trying to kiss the _Fire Nation Prince _anyway? When did sanity suddenly decide to ditch him?

"Fine. Whatever." It's not like he hasn't already been considering leaving.

So why does his chest hurt so bad?

Actually, y'know what, it's probably just an aftereffect of his little . . . fiasco with Ozai. Probably. He extricates himself from the swath of blankets and grabs his shoes laying neatly on the ground beside the couch. "Thanks. For . . . everything." And without bothering to even put his shoes on, Sokka is vanishing through the enormous wooden doors of Ozai's room, unable to get away from Zuko fast enough.

Inside the room the Water Tribe boy had just so hastily vacated, a fire flares.

* * *

_Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Sokka trudges through the academy, paying very little mind to where he's going. _Stupid. This whole damn thing is stupid. _Obviously, whatever Ozai had done to Sokka earlier that day was messing with his brain or something. As if he'd be attracted to that jerkbender. A fleeting thought zips through Sokka's mind—_throw that necklace away, why do you still wear it? It's ridiculous, _you're _ridiculous, hanging onto something that isn't there anymore, toss it, just toss it, you'll feel much b_—

"Oof!" Sokka collides into someone, sending himself flying back and onto the ground. His ass is getting really sick and tired of having to repeatedly reacquaint itself with the ground. And he doesn't know how he'll live with himself knowing that he got knocked to the ground by a little girl yet she seems perfectly fine. _It figures that she's an earthbender_, Sokka thinks to himself as he takes notice of her green and yellow uniform.

"Hey! Watch where you're going, would ya?"

He knows he's in the wrong here. _He's _the one throwing a temper tantrum and stomping through the hallways of this gargantuan, confusing school, after all. But he's just so _angry. _"Why don't you watch where _you're _going, shortstack?" he retorts.

"Can't," the little girl says, waving a hand in front of her unseeing eyes. "I'm kinda blind, if you haven't noticed."

"O-Oh." Shit. Of course. Of _course _he runs into a blind girl and decides to be a prick to her. "Sorry."

"Eh," she shrugs. "I do okay."

Feeling his anger and frustration ebbing away, Sokka cocks his head to the side, curious. "You earthbend?"

"Yeah," she replies proudly. "My feet tell me everything I need to know," she informs him, punctuating her statement with a wiggle of her bare toes.

"Your . . . feet?" Sokka parrots, not quite following.

"Yep. I can feel stuff. Y'know, vibrations."

The Water Tribe boy's eyebrows rise, impressed. "That's actually really cool," he says, surprised but sincere. Then something occurs to him. "I can get how you can earthbend and stuff. But what about your other classes? Y'know, the—"

"Boring ones?" she finishes for him.

"Yeah," he says, huffing a small laugh.

"Eh. I don't actually _do _anything in those classes. They only make me go 'cause they don't know what else to do with me. And I'm only here for the earthbending."

"Rrrrright. So . . . there's no special braille-only class for you?"

"Nope." She beams at him.

"Great. Lucky you."

"Aw, do I sense some bitterness in that tone?" she asks teasingly.

Sokka rolls his eyes. "Whatever. I need to go."

"Where ya headin'?" the girl asks as he's retrieving the shoes that'd flown out of his hands and getting to his feet.

"Er, the waterbender wing."

The girl snorts a laugh. "Well, this definitely isn't it," she points out oh, so helpfully.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Sokka drawls.

"Are ya lost?"

"Pfft. No."

"I know you're lying, y'know."

"Well, that's kind of unfair."

"I think it's totally fair."

"Yeah, but you're completely biased!"

"Look, do ya want my help or not?"

"Grrr . . . _fine._"

"Great!" She grabs Sokka's elbow and begins dragging him in the opposite direction of where he'd been heading. "I'm Toph."

"Sokka—_hey, ow!_"

"Sokkaheyow?" Toph echoes amusedly. "That's one helluva name ya got there."

"My name is _Sokka_ and _would ya stop crushing my elbow?_ Spirits, for a little girl, you're tough."

"Hey! Who you callin' a little girl?"

"Well, I don't see anybody else around here, do you?"

"No, I don't _see _anybody," Toph snickers.

"Oh, haha, very funny."

* * *

"Sokka? Sokka! Where the _hell_ have you been? Do you have any idea what time it is? I've been worried sick about y—"

"Whoa, whoa, hey, calm down there, Madame Fussy Britches," Toph interrupts, hands held up in a placating manner. "What're you doin' out here so late, Sugar Queen? Isn't it past your bedtime?"

"Wait, you two _know _each oth—actually, y'know what, the hell am I saying, of course you two know each other."

"Well, how do _you _know Sugar Queen over here?"

"Stay out of this, Toph!"

"Oh, yeah, no, don't thank the blind girl who found your missing Sokka for you or whatever, that's fine."

"I am not _her _Sokka! What does that even _mean?_"

A door opens across the hall from Katara's room. "What the hell is going on out here?"

All three of them turn on the unsuspecting waterbender, shouting as one. "SHUT UP!"


	11. Chapter 11

"Up and at 'em, Snoozles!"

"Urrrrrgh." Sokka rolls over onto his side, squishing himself up against the wall and shying away from the hand groping around on the mattress. Why is she so _loud? _This is no time to be loud. Not during Sokka's precious sleepy times. "Nooo. Go 'way, T'ph."

"C'mon, Snoozles! Your sister's gonna kill me if I don't get you up and ready for class." Toph huffs, blowing a loose strand of her out of her face. "Damn it, Snoozles, where are you? I can't reach!"

"Lies," Sokka slurs, pressing himself up even further into the wall. Thank Spirits Toph is so short and Katara let him have the top bunk bed. "Yer not scared o' 'Tara."

". . . Okay, so I'm not. But it's my free period and I'm bored."

"So y'decide t' harass me?" he groans pitifully.

"'Harass' is a strong word, don't'cha think?"

"Ugh. _Go 'way!_ Dun'wanna get up . . ."

"Welp." A hand latches onto the tail of his shirt. "Too bad." Uh-oh.

"GAAA—_OOMPH!_" Sokka lays sprawled supinely and spread-eagle on the ground. "Ow."

"Great! You're up! Now get your butt movin'."

_Ugggh. Fuck my life._

* * *

As Sokka's bleary-eyed self is forcibly dragged to class by his evil sister (morning people are obviously very sinister characters—they need to get up early to plot out evil schemes or something—why else would they like getting up at such blasphemous hours?), he can't fight off the wave of wistfulness that hits him.

He can honestly say that after leaving the Fire Nation, he never missed going to school for one second. Gran-Gran and Dad taught him everything he needed to know—which was _important, practical _stuff. Stuff like how to keep warm in the cold, how to build a shelter, how to hunt, how to prepare and cook the animals that he hunts, how to read and write, how to think on his feet, how to strategize and plan things out.

But history? If it were the history of _weapons, _then sure, no problem, he'll gladly attend that class. But people long dead? Pah.

"Sokka! Wake up!" a voice hisses in his ear, the command soon followed by a jab to his side.

The Water Tribe boy turns to rest his left cheek on the desk and glower at his sister. "Would ya stop poking me with your pencil?" he sussurrates hotly.

"Well, if you didn't keep falling asleep—"

"Miss Katara?"

"Er, yes, Miss Hama?"

"Is there . . . something you'd like to share with the rest of the class?"

Katara ducks her head, blushing. "No, Miss Hama. Please excuse my interruption of your lesson."

". . . Hm."

When the creepy old lady returns to her lecture, Katara shoots a dark Look towards Sokka. "Told ya we shouldn't've sat in the front," he mumbles. He yelps when, yet again, that damned pencil is shoved into his side. Miss Hama's eyes flicker over to him for a second and he sits up, back ramrod straight, and waves nervously, a cheesy smile plastered on his face. "Hehe, hi."

She only narrows her eyes at him, as if to say _I'm watching you, boy._

Sokka _really _doesn't like that woman. There's something . . . _off _about her. But whatever. He doesn't have the strength or energy to dwell on that. His cognitive functions haven't even fully booted up yet! Maybe a short nap will fix that . . .

"Wake up!" Jab.

Okay. So a nap's out of the question.

* * *

Now _this_—_this _is a class he can enjoy.

"Lunch," Sokka sighs dreamily, staring adoringly at his tray of food.

Katara rolls her eyes, settling down beside him on the bench. "I can't believe the headmaster _actually _went and allowed you to get seconds."

"Well, guess there are _some _perks to being the Fire Lord's captive—er, I mean . . . guest." Sokka freezes at the hard expression on Katara's face, steaming, delicious strip of roasted duck already so tantalizingly close to his taste buds. "Ward?" he tries again. "Er, charge? Companion? Pupil? Guest? P—"

"You already tried that one."

Sokka sighs, shoulders slumping as he sets down his food and chopsticks. _Wait for me, roasted duck. Wait for me._

"You got some explaining to do, Sokka."

"I know, I know," he groans, slamming his elbows onto the lunch table and rubbing his eyes. "It's . . . It's really complicated, Katara."

"That's not gonna cut it, Sokka!" Katara angles her body towards him and tugs his arms down so she can look him in the eye. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're here, okay? Really, really glad." A soft smile tugs at his lips upon hearing this. "But . . . just . . . how, Sokka? _Why? _Don't tell me you went and did something stupid because of this . . . this _Zuko _person—"

"No!" Sokka denies vehemently, shaking his head vigorously. "I didn't come here for—for _him, _okay?"

Katara seems to relax slightly. "Good. That's good. But then w—"

"Wait." Sokka squints his eyes, suspicious. Sure, it came as a shock to Sokka when he found out that Zuko is the freaking Fire Nation Prince. But he hasn't been attending the same school as the jerkbender for nigh on ten years, now has he? "Have you really not met Zuko before?"

"I—I haven't," Katara says, just a little too quickly in Sokka's opinion. "I'd tell you if I did, Sokka."

The Water Tribe boy analyzes his little sister's face for a moment, a sense of certainty rising with every second that passes by. "You have!" he accuses eventually, leaning back and pointing a finger at her. "You know who he is, don't you? And you have known! All these years!"

"Sokka, shhh!" Her eyes flicker back and forth as she attempts to push his hand down. "People are looking!"

"I don't care, Katara! You lied to me!" His tone loses its heat then, just temporarily, to be replaced with puzzlement and hurt. "Why would you do that?"

"Sokka . . ." Katara reaches for her brother, voice pleading. "I just—"

The Water Tribe boy's face hardens, understanding dawning on him. "It's 'cause he's—" Just say it. Just say it. "It's 'cause he's the Fire Nation Prince, isn't he?"

Katara retracts her hand, just marginally, taken aback. "I . . . He and I just haven't been on very good terms," she explains softly, going ahead and placing a hand on Sokka's shoulder anyway. "We've . . . done some things and said some stuff and it—"

"What?" Sokka turns sharply to study Katara. "Did he do something? Did he hurt you somehow?" Nobody hurts his sister and gets away with it, not even people with ridiculously amazing eyes that give Sokka weird, stupid, confusing feelings.

"No! No, of course not," she assures him. "It's nothing like that. It doesn't—"

"Look, it's fine, Katara."

"—have anything to do with—wait, what?"

Sokka shrugs and Katara's hand, limp from astonishment, slides off his shoulder to hang uselessly by her side. "I said it's fine."

Katara gapes at her brother, watching him eat as if nothing were wrong. Even though something clearly is. "I . . . I really thought you'd put up more of a fight than this, Sokka."

He shrugs again. "What's there to fight about?"

"So—So you're totally okay with this? With your sister and your best friend being at odds w—"

"He's not my best friend. He never was." Sokka shoves more rice into his mouth, mentally screaming at every voice inside his head calling him a liar to just shut the fuck up already. "I mean, he's a total jerkbender. He obviously takes after his dad, Fire Lord Asshole," he grumbles sullenly.

"Oh." Katara's mood lightens immensely, a sort of relieved air about her. Sokka should probably be more questioning about that than he is right now (which is not at all). But he's just so _hungry_. And his roasted duck has waited long enough. "So, about this whole thing with the Fire Lord . . ." Katara prompts.

"Eh." Sokka sets his chopsticks down, (sadly) already finished with his meal and surreptitiously eyeing Katara's tray. _That delicious little morsel is looking so neglected right now . . . _"I'm just as clueless as you are as to why I'm here."

"Sokka," Katara starts warningly, motherly sternness already creeping into her voice.

"I swear!" he says after taking a swig from his water bottle. "The guy showed up in our village and had Sparky Sparky Boom Man blow a friggin' hole in the big igloo and basically just kidnapped me. Then he told me to keep my yap shut about this whole thing 'cause—surprise, surprise—even Fire Lords don't like it when people go tattling on 'em to their mommies. Er, councilmommies. Er, whatever. The point is, he threatened Gran-Gran's life—_Gran-Gran_—the bastard. And yesterday was just . . . _weird. _Something happened in his room and I have to go back there today and I really don't—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down there, bub." Katara rubs her temples, eyes closed. "Just . . . start from the beginning, okay? And go _slow._"

Sokka rolls his eyes. "Yeah, sorry, whatever. Just . . . I have a really important question to ask you."

"What?" the waterbender sighs wearily.

"Are you gonna eat that?"

* * *

As Sokka pushes and shoves his way through the throng of benders rushing off to class or training or whatever, he's actually starting to wish he were back in class with that unsettling Miss Hama woman. Or just back at home helping out with repairing the communal igloo—at least he'd be doing something productive. Fuck, he'll even take Katara's lecturing and water whipping and "How could you be so stupid?!"s over this. Anything is fine, really. Anything but having to go meet Ozai.

A phantom pain spikes in Sokka's chest as he stands before the Fire Lord's chambers (how he found it at all is still a mystery to him), and he reaches a hand up to soothe it. Except, apparently, his hand has since decided that it's got a mind of its own and grabs for the pendant hanging underneath his shirt instead. He scolds himself for taking comfort in something so—so—so _stupid. _He really should just take it off and toss it.

Yet deep down, Sokka knows he won't be doing that at all anytime in the near future, if ever.

_Well. Here goes nothing._

Sokka raises his hand to knock on the door—though he hates to admit it, even if it is only to himself, after yesterday he's definitely decided that until he can figure out what kind of power Ozai has over him, it's best to just play it safe and be . . . civil. Just for now. However, where his hand should come into contact with hard wood, it only strikes at thin air.

"—talk to him, Father. I'll make sure he knows."

Sokka stills when the figure who's just thrown open the door locks eyes with him. They're familiar eyes—all molten ore and fiery heat. But the resemblance ends there. Where Zuko's eyes hold this . . . this sort of _warmth _in them (clichéd as that is), these eyes are much colder, much more . . . like Ozai. Plus, there's the very obvious feature that these eyes belong to a _girl _rather than a guy.

So Sokka's just going to take a wild stab in the dark here and conclude that this girl is Zuko's sister. He also amends his statement from earlier in the cafeteria. If there's anyone who takes after Fire Lord Asshole, it's this chick.

"Yes?" she asks, gaze hard and scrutinizing, almost challenging. But Sokka's not going to look away. Even though this girl kind of totally scares him.

_C'mon, man. You gonna let yourself get intimidated by a girl?_

Well, actually, Katara and Gran-Gran are pretty intimidating when they want to be. And Sokka hasn't known Toph that long but there's no doubt in his mind that she's a pretty tough gal. GAH, no, not the point—focus. C'mon, man, focus.

"I'm looking for the Fire Lord," Sokka tells her, voice coming out much steadier than he thought it would.

There's an excruciatingly long moment where the girl doesn't say anything, just . . . _looks _at him. Sokka resists the urge to fidget or say something that'll get him roasted like that duck he had for lunch.

"Father!" the girl calls out into the room, but she never for a moment tears her eyes away from the Water Tribe boy. "You have a visitor."

"Let him in," Ozai says, and Sokka has to bite his lip to keep from sticking his tongue out at the girl as if to say _Ha! See? I wasn't lying._

The girl steps aside, and now her blatant staring is just becoming absolutely unnerving. "See something you like?" he says when he simply cannot take it anymore.

The girl grimaces, a look of utter repulsion on her face, which, well, _ouch. _"Uch. As if I'd lower myself to my brother's standards." That's important—She just said something important. Sokka should probably remember that. But he can't really be bothered to care, considering how glad he is that she's just finally _gone, _thank the Spirits.

However, Sokka's little moment of mollification is swiftly and rudely cut short by Fire Lord Asshole, sitting at the desk set on the other side of the room. "Now, are you actually going to do what I say today, boy, or will I have to use this again?"

Sokka squints at the glittering trinket held in Ozai's open palm, but he's too far away to see what it is. Although, strangely enough, he's not sure he really _wants _to know.

"What—" Sokka croaks out hoarsely, clearing his throat to try again. "What is that?"

Ozai shows no indication of answering the Water Tribe boy's question, just grins at him. And Sokka would sincerely pay the Fire Lord a thousand gold coins to stop smiling like that.

A sense of foreboding is weighing down heavily on him, but not heavily enough, apparently. Because he's still moving, still walking, as if in a trance. He has the overwhelming desire to squeeze his eyes shut and hide them behind his hands, childish as that is. He wants to tuck tail and run—just run, run, run, doesn't matter where, as long as he gets as far away as possible from Ozai. From what's in Ozai's hand.

His breath catches in his throat when he's finally close enough to see.

"You recognize this . . . don't you, boy?"

But . . . But why does . . .

"Do you know what this is, peasant?"

Sokka can't quite process what he's seeing, convinced that he's hallucinating or that he's having a nightmare or—or—or _something. _Something. Anything. Anything but this. He doesn't know why he feels so strongly about it, but he has never been more certain of anything in his life than he is right now that _Ozai shouldn't have this._ Sokka tries to speak, but his vocal chords don't seem to want to cooperate with him right now.

"This little snowflake, boy . . . is the charm that holds your soul."

Yeah. Ozai definitely shouldn't have this.

* * *

**A/N: Ugh. This chapter just . . . grates on my nerves for some reason. Hopefully the next one won't be so gag-worthy and actually clears some shit up.**


	12. Chapter 12

"Would you stop getting your panties in a bunch, Sugar Queen? You're making me antsy."

"Um, I kind of agree with her, Kata—" Aang shrinks just slightly under the waterbender's withering glare. "I mean, never mind."

"Look," Toph pipes up, reclining on the ground with her hands behind her head, "I'm sure your brother's fine, alright? He's not that bright but I'm sure he can manage fine on his own."

"But it's been _hours, _you guys! What if something's happened to him?" Katara paces anxiously before her two friends, hands alternating between tugging at her braid and flailing agitatedly in the air. "I knew I shouldn't have let him go! Especially not after he told me about that whole—_thing _with the Fire Lord!"

"Oh, yeah," Aang says, cocking his head to the side. "You still haven't told us about . . . well, _anything _that's been going on with your brother." The airbender scratches distractedly at Momo's head when the lemur scampers up his body and wraps itself around Aang's neck. Technically, pets aren't allowed in the Nativitas Academy—except for the obvious sky bison that every airbender befriends and bonds with—but since the gardens are usually empty at this time of evening, Aang thinks it's okay for Momo to get a change of scenery from being cooped up in his room all day.

"It's . . . complicated, Aang," Katara says, parroting her brother's statement from earlier today during lunch. "I promised I'd keep it a secret. For our Gran-Gran's sake. And his, I suppose," she continues, voice gradually trailing off.

"Look, I say we go get some ice cream, cool off, and worry about all this crap later."

"Ice cream?" Aang floats to his feet, a hopeful gleam in his eye. "Ice cream, where?"

"Well, I could be wrong—which I never am—but I'm pretty sure the old coots of this school have a secret stash hidden somewhere in the teacher's lounge."

Aang's face falls. "But how're we gonna get inside? It's locked, isn't it?"

"Pfft, you forget who you're talking to, Twinkle Toes." Toph sits up, shit-eating grin in place. "I just figured out how to bend metal today."

The airbender's eyes widen exponentially. "No way! That's awesome, Toph!" he exclaims, genuinely excited for his friend. Then a thought strikes him. "Wait, but won't we be breaking and entering—"

"My brother could be in serious trouble right now—possibly _dead_—and you two are discussing methods on stealing _ice cream?!_" Katara shrieks.

"Stop being so dramatic, Sugar Queen. And I like to think of it as borrowing."

Aang knits his brow pensively. "But how would we give it back? Once we eat the ice cream, it'll only come out through . . . through our . . ."

Toph's smile grows as she stares at a spot just over the airbender's right shoulder. "Exactly."

Aang sticks his tongue out, grimacing. "Ew, gross!"

While Aang attempts desperately to disassociate the image of creamy, chocolatey ice cream from that of, well, _that, _Toph rolls on the ground in a fit of cackles, and Katara just kind of wants to go take a nice stroll off a cliff.

All in all, a pretty typical evening for the three benders.

Except . . . Sokka's still missing . . .

* * *

"Look, I told you, I don't _hear anything, _so just—"

"You're not trying hard enough!"

Sokka groans, slumping and dropping his head. "Look, I'm tired. I'm hungry. It's hot. Sitting like this for hours on end is _really _uncomfortable—I don't know how you people can meditate for so long without having your asses fall asleep. And we're obviously getting nowhere so why don't I just leave for the day and we can pick all this up tomorrow or whatever?" Sokka suggests, wiping away the sweat dripping into his eyes with the back of his hand.

Ozai growls, the candles in the room flickering and flaring crazily, only further aggravating Sokka's already frayed nerves. "This doesn't make any sense!" he snarls, seemingly more to himself rather than the other occupant of the room.

"Maybe you're wrong," Sokka says slowly, cautiously. "Maybe I'm not the 'Link' or whatever that you're looking f—" Sokka cuts himself off with a choked noise in the back of his throat, falling forward. He tries to catch himself, but his legs are still stuck in the lotus position and his arms are just limp noodles of jelly attached to his shoulders now. "S-St-Stop _doing _th-that," he gasps.

Ozai's grip on the little crystal snowflake doesn't relent, but his hand cools down drastically.

Sokka _really _doesn't like this guy.

When the pain abates, the Water Tribe boy rearranges himself into a more comfortable upright position even as his aching muscles scream at him in the process.

He just wants to leave. He doesn't understand how so much shit could hit the fan in the span of three days. Three days ago, he was trying to teach a group of unruly boys how to fight and defend for themselves. Now, he's in this enormous school for benders, stuck in the Fire Lord's master bedroom, and—oh, he almost forgot—just now finding out that he's been walking around his whole life an _empty, soulless_ human being. Literally.

Sokka still can't quite wrap his head around this whole thing. This feels like something that should be in a movie or a book or—something. But it sure as fuck shouldn't be _his life. _How does something like this even happen? Even Ozai doesn't know. All the more reason to hate him, Sokka supposes.

The Water Tribe boy makes a mental note to head to the school library tomorrow—they've got to have _something _on the subject of . . . soul separation or whatever you call this mumbo-jumbo.

What's worse is that Ozai's totally convinced that since Sokka's spiritual self is detached from his physical self, he's some sort of special Link to the spiritual realm. But none of this makes _sense. _How did it happen? If his soul's gone, is he technically a zombie? He definitely doesn't _feel _like a mindless drone. But the way Ozai talks about him, Sokka's beginning to feel like he's some cheap motel and should be walking around with a flashing neon sign that proclaims 'VACANCY AVAILABLE.'

Sokka wishes he could talk to his mom. Did she . . . Did she know? Did she know that he . . . that his . . . ? Of course she had. She had to have known. At least _this _piece of the puzzle clicks into place. Not that it really makes him feel any better. His mom died . . . for him. His mom died protecting him. Sokka's not sure of the details but he knows that much. _Mom . . ._

All of this could've been avoided if Sokka just hadn't given the damn necklace to Zuko. But how was he supposed to have known that the thing held his _soul? _It doesn't look very special. It doesn't even shine extra brightly or glow or have _any _special, discerning quality whatsoever that screams, 'Hey! I contain the very essence of your being! So take care of me, ya dumbass!' Mom had told him that if he felt he could really, really trust someone—someone special—then he should give it to them. Because they could keep it safe.

Sokka obviously isn't as great a judge of character as he originally thought he was. Because he'd quite literally handed over his everything to Zuko. And that was the biggest mistake he's ever made.

Fuck, he is _so _not doing this right now. He is _not _going to cry in front of Fire Lord Asshole.

"Are we done here?" Sokka rasps, forcing the words past the hard lump in his throat but gaze never wavering from Ozai's eyes.

". . . Very well. We will reconvene tomorrow."

"Great," Sokka sneers. "It's a date," he adds in parting, tone dripping with sarcasm and hatred and every other negative emotion possible, just for the hell of it. He snatches up his discarded shirt from beside him and steps around Fire Lord Asshole to exit the room.

Once the door closes, he heaves an exhausted sigh, falling lightly back to rest against the hard wood, just for a minute. He shuts his eyes, letting his head loll back. Fuck. And now his stomach decides to join in on the chorus of complaints being sung by the rest of his body. Great. Sokka still has no idea what time it is. Maybe he should invest in a watch.

Oh, Spirits. Katara's probably going to kill him. _Again._

Well, now there's another unanswered question. If he dies, what happens to him? Can he even die? Death is defined as the heart ceasing in its—okay, actually, y'know what, who cares? Sokka is on the verge of starving to death here, and he'd rather not take his chances. So. Main priority: feed the belly. Worry about everything else later.

With a deep breath, Sokka sets off to do just that.

* * *

Deep breaths. Just say it, just tell him.

"Um, so I just wanted to say that I've . . . When we were seven, I felt like I had fun—no, wait. I should start by saying that I'm sorry, shouldn't I? I . . . I tried to . . . GAH!" Zuko groans, mussing his hair in frustration. "Spirits, what am I doing talking to a little rat?" he grumbles gloomily.

The lemur in his lap chirps indignantly, waving a tiny little fist and flattening its ears against its head.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm sorry," he murmurs, stroking its head. "You're not a little rat." The lemur seems to settle down, pleased. "You're a big one." In the blink of an eye, Zuko finds himself with a head full of lemur. "GAH! Get off, get off! I'm sorry, I take it back!" The lemur gives one final, solitary yank on the firebender's hair before returning to its position curled up in his lap.

Zuko surreptitiously inspects the empty hallway, just to make sure that no one was around to see the Fire Nation Prince make a spectacle of himself and apologize to a _lemur. _He remembers having so much more dignity than this at some point in his life.

Zuko huffs sharply, thunking his head back against the door he's leaning on. He's still not sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed that the room was empty when he knocked on the door half an hour ago. Maybe a combination of both. Still, it's nearing curfew . . . Where could Sokka be?

"Look, Twinkle Toes, maybe the little guy's just tired of hangin' around and he's already long gone."

"What? No! Momo wouldn't do that! . . . Would he? . . . Do you really think he'd do that? Have I been taking bad care of him? I knew I should've let him out more, oh, Spirits, I'm a terrible—"

"Aang, it's fine. I'm sure Momo's around here somewhere. He wouldn't just leave you like that."

"You really think so, Katara?"

"Yeah, of course, Aang."

"_Oof! _What the hell did you hit me f—_ow! _That's it, Sugar Queen, you and me, right n—"

"Momo!"

Zuko's head jerks up just in time to catch sight of the lemur soaring through the air and into the airbender's arms.

"Momo! You scared me, buddy!" The boy laughs as 'Momo' licks at his face.

Oh, great. The waterbender girl is with him. Yep, that's definitely Zuko's cue to leave. He gets to his feet, already turning and walking in the opposite direction the group of benders had just come from. Or tries to anyway, if the hand that's latched itself onto his wrist would just _let go_.

"What are _you _doing here, Zuko?" the owner of the hand gnarls.

The firebender screams internally. He _really _doesn't want to deal with this right now. "Look, I don't want any trouble, okay?" he says as peaceably as possible. "I just—"

"You just _what?_"

Okay, now this is just getting ridiculous. "_What _is your problem with me?" Zuko asks, irritation curling deep in his stomach.

"Everything!" the waterbender shouts, flinging his wrist out of her grip. "Where's my brother?"

This gives Zuko pause, his annoyance converting into something resembling worry. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, don't play dumb with me! I know you know where he is!" The girl shoves harshly at his chest. "Now tell me!"

"Katara, maybe you should calm d—"

"Stay out of this, Aang!" the girl says without turning away from Zuko, as if she doesn't trust him out of her sight for one second.

The airbender's face registers shock, briefly, before he hardens it into something more steely. "I get that you're worried, Katara. But shouting at Zuko isn't helping anybody."

"You're hiding something, I know you are," the waterbender says, blatantly ignoring her friend. Zuko doesn't say anything. Let her think what she wants. If Sokka's been missing this long . . . then he needs to find his father.

The other girl, the earthbender, chooses this moment to chime in. "Hey, I'm with Twinkle Toes on this one. Plus, Snoozles is just around the corner, so—"

"Wait, what?" The waterbender whirls around just in time to see that, sure enough, Sokka is turning the corner into their hallway, munching on—Spirits, is he _shirtless?_

Why is he shirtless? Oh, Spirits, he's shirtless, Sokka's shirtless. Zuko should go. Now. Before Sokka spots him. But something stops him. Something he never expected to see ever again, especially not hanging from Sokka's neck. _He's still wearing my necklace . . . _A surge of elation rushes through the firebender and he can feel his heart pounding an erratic beat inside his chest. _He's still wearing my necklace._

"Damn cafeteria ladies, a guy really _can't _catch a break around here. Apples. _Apples. _A strong, tough warrior like me can't survive on—er." Sokka stops short, more than a little alarmed by all the sets of eyes boring into him. "Um . . . hi? What're you g—_OW, _what the hell, Katara?!"

"You idiot! Where have you been?! You had me worried sick!"

"Well, your worrying really hurts," Sokka mutters, rubbing the spot where his sister's open palm had just connected with the back of his head. He stoops over to retrieve his shirt and apple. "Aw, man!" he gripes. "Now it's all linty!" The icky icing on the craptastic cake.

"I'm only mad because I care, Sokka!" Katara informs him with no small amount of rage coloring her tone. And her cheeks, too. Her face gets _really _red when she's angry.

"Well, if this is how you are when you're caring, I pity anyone who has to deal with your loving—_ow!_"

"You're walking around giving me heart attacks and now you're gonna crack _jokes?_"

The Water Tribe boy rolls his eyes, slipping past his sister to talk instead to Aang. At least _he _doesn't look like he wants to murder Sokka. "Hey, Aang."

"Wh—You can't—Sokka! Don't walk away from me!"

The airbender grins uncertainly at Sokka. "Um, hey, Sokka. Where ya been?"

"Eh. Decided to go for a swim and lost track of time."

"You're ly—" The rest of Toph's sentence comes out as an incomprehensible mumble from behind the cover of Sokka's hand.

"Hehe, okay, I'm tired, who's tired? I say we all go to bed." He fakes a yawn, only to have it turn into a real one. Spirits, he really is way too drained of energy to deal with this.

"Ahem."

All eyes shift towards the voice and Sokka's face pales. What the _fuck, _universe?!

"I . . . Sokka, I need to—"

Katara steps in between her brother and the firebender. "The only thing you need to do right now is _leave._"

Breaking away from Sokka, Toph inches her way over to Aang's side. "We should totally get some popcorn or something. This is gonna be good," she whispers into his ear. The airbender sends her a disapproving look, which is completely lost on the blind girl.

A big part of Sokka _does _want Katara to go ahead and just chase Zuko off with her water whip and motherly battle cry. But a bigger part—the stupid, irrational part dominated by his stupid, irrational emotions—wants to hear him out. Plus, he's the big brother here. He can't have his little sister standing up for him all the time.

"Look, Katara, it's fine."

The waterbender eyes her brother with incredulity. "Sokka—"

"I just wanna hear what he has to say, okay?" Sokka says, very pointedly not making eye contact with Zuko even though he can feel his eyes on him.

"I'm not leaving, Sokka."

"Spirits, Katara, why're you making this so difficult?"

"Oh, how I wish I wasn't blind just so I could see Sugar Queen's face right now."

Katara seems to just . . . _snap _then. This whole time, she's been like a rubber band being pulled tighter and tauter and now she's finally _snapped. _And the effect is just as unpleasant as having an actual rubber band snap in your face.

"FINE!" she roars, tossing her arms up in the air. "You all want to treat this like some silly little joke, then FINE BY ME! If all of this comes back around to bite you in the ass, don't come running to ME! SEE IF I CARE!" And with that, she's disappeared into her room, the slamming of the door reverberating in the stunned silence that follows.

Toph is the first to speak. "Sooo . . . wow. Sugar Queen's really actually pissed this time, isn't she?"

"Toph—" Aang starts wearily.

"Hey, I'm just stating facts here, Twinkle Toes." She stretches, back popping. "Welp. I'm heading off to bed." She pauses, looking in the general direction of where Sokka stands. "Oh, and _you, _Snoozles, are gonna spill whatever it is that you're hidin' from us tomorrow. If you're still alive, I mean," she finishes with a smirk, the little brat.

Aang, however, hesitates before heading off. "Um, is Katara . . . ?"

"She'll be fine, Aang. I'll talk to her," Sokka assures the airbender.

Aang stares at him for a moment, searching his eyes, before nodding. "Okay. See ya tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Sokka says, mouth stretching into a facsimile of a smile, "see ya tomorrow." He drops it the second Aang is out of his sight, though.

Great. Now that that's done with—

"I'm sorry."

Sokka blinks, having completely forgotten that Zuko has been here the whole time. The guy is really quiet when he wants to be.

"Um, for what?"

"For—" The firebender gestures helplessly and Sokka follows his line of sight to—oh. Fuck.

Sokka hastily pulls his shirt on, bravely keeping his face neutral. Or so he thinks anyway. It doesn't feel very neutral. "It's fine," he says curtly, tugging at the hem of his shirt to make sure it's covering everything. Including the ugly discoloration of his torso. There's another great thing about living in the South Pole. He doesn't have to worry about other people seeing the splotches of his skin that are just slightly lighter than the rest of him since, well, stripping down to bare skin isn't exactly practical.

Sure, _Sokka _has no problem with the blemish—it's been a part of him so long, like a weird birthmark—but other people . . . well. They may not find it so normal. Or pretty.

"I—"

Sokka stoically keeps his trap shut, letting Zuko compose himself and say what he wants to say. But he feels on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion right now. The lack of food, the big Katara catastrophe—Katastrophe?—and that whole "meditating" session with Ozai have really taken their toll on Sokka. He finds himself subconsciously stepping closer to Zuko, into his little bubble of warmth.

"—kka."

"Hm, huh, what?" Sokka can't really think through the fog muddling his mind right now. And the warm hands on his shoulders are practically the only things keeping him upright at the moment. Such warm, warm hands . . .

"Go to bed, Sokka."

"N-No, no," the Water Tribe boy murmurs, "'S okay. I'm listenin'."

Zuko chuckles softly, shaking his head. Sokka wonders idly if his eyes glow in the dark, a sense of deja vu accompanying the thought. "It's okay, Sokka. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Y'sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"Mmkay." Sokka reluctantly pulls away from the comforting heat of Zuko's hands and stumbles his way to his room. "G'night, Zuko."

Already half asleep, Sokka is completely oblivious to the surprise and guarded hope that flits across the firebender's face. ". . . Good night, Sokka."


	13. Chapter 13

Souls, souls, souls, c'mon, something with souls . . . souls, souls, s—_aha!_

Sokka adds this book—_Separation of Two Souls_—to the steadily growing pile of tomes in his arms. Fuck, this is getting heavy. He can't even see over the top of the stack of books, having to crane his neck to the side to watch where he's going. Now he just needs to find an empty t—oh, shit.

In the split second just before Sokka's collection of books go flying out of his arms, he wonders angrily why the hell people choose to sit in the aisles of bookshelves (and get in the way of unsuspecting innocents such as himself) when there are countless comfy armchairs scattered around this ginormous library.

Except the tower of books doesn't go flying out of his arms; it doesn't even topple over. Sokka's always thought his reflexes were pretty honed, but this is—oh.

"Do you need any help?"

Great. Of course. Of _course. _Leave it to Zuko to go and burst Sokka's bubble while simultaneously giving him fluttery butterflies in his stomach. Or maybe he's just hungry. Yeah. That makes more sense.

Sokka lowers his arms as far as possible and rises on his tippy-toes so that his eyes are just above the stack of books. He narrows them. "Are you following me?"

Zuko coughs, turning his head to peruse the titles lined up adjacent to them, but he doesn't remove his steadying hands from the sides of the book pile. "Um. No. It's just my free period and I thought I'd . . . do some reading."

"Uh-huh. Yeah. Right," Sokka says dubiously. "Well, long as you're here." He dumps the stack of books into the other's arms and Zuko grunts from the unexpected weight. Pausing only to take the top half of books back into his own hands, Sokka then begins searching for an empty table.

It only makes sense that he and Zuko have the same free period. Damn universe is just having way too much fun tormenting Sokka. Way too much.

Upon finding a secluded, isolated spot in a corner of the library, Sokka lets the books fall with a loud thump onto the table, earning him a few "shhh!"s from the other students. Whatever. He's got more important things on his mind.

Settling down into a chair—these things really _are _comfy—Sokka grabs a random book from the top of the pile and flips it open. Okay. Let's do this. Except he can't even finish reading the first sentence of the first page because Zuko's still here. And Zuko's distracting.

Er, no, that came out wrong. Zuko's _staring _is distracting.

Sokka quirks an eyebrow, looking up at the firebender from under his lashes. "So are ya gonna just stand there all day or are ya gonna crack open a book and start helping me?"

Amazement flickers fleetingly across Zuko's face, there and gone in a second. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's not like you're gonna set me on fire again or anything, right?" Sokka jokes, which is obviously not the right thing to say, because Zuko freezes halfway into his seat across from the Water Tribe boy.

The firebender retrieves a book from one of the two stacks, gaze obstinately focused on the book and only the book.

Great. _Way to go and mess things up, me. _Spirits, why does Sokka even _care? _He's already got enough problems to be dealing with, he doesn't have time to try to figure out this weird tension thing he's got going on with Zuko.

Five minutes or so pass by in peaceful silence. That is, if peaceful constitutes intense staring, irregular heartbeats, and really inappropriate thoughts of—

"Sokka?"

"I wasn't thinking about anything!" Sokka blurts out, damned cheeks heating up. Why are they heating up? There is no reason that he should be blushing right now, none whatsoever.

"Apparently not," Zuko chuckles.

"S-Sorry," Sokka stammers, attempting to sink deeper into the chair cushion and disappear. It's not working. Because he's still here and Zuko's still looking at him with that—that—that _look _in his eyes that makes Sokka feel all funny on the inside. "Did you say something?"

Now it's Zuko's turn to look abashed. "I, um . . . I just . . . I know it's none of my business why you're reading through these types of books, but if you were looking up tips on how to . . . well, I just—I think there are, um, a lot of better ways to go about it."

Sokka blinks. "What."

The firebender scratches the back of his head, clearly ill at ease with the current subject matter at hand. But why? "Um, just—here." Zuko hands over the book he'd been reading—_Separation of Two Souls_—without so much as glancing up at Sokka.

Quizzical, the Water Tribe boy takes it from the firebender's hands. He begins sifting through it, eyes only scanning through the text and—

"HOLY SH—" Sokka swallows the swear at the last second, flinging the book away from him as if it'd burned him. Which it had. Those words will be forever burned into his retinas. "Ohmyspirits, ohmyspirits, ohmyspirits," he groans, the heels of his palms rubbing roughly at his eyelids, as if he could scrub away the words from his memory. "Brain bleach, where's the fucking brain bleach?"

"Um, Sokka?" Zuko reaches for the other boy, arm halting within inches of Sokka's hand. "Are you okay?"

The Water Tribe boy drops his arms to fix the firebender with an accusatory glare. "The hell are you doing reading trashy romance novels for?"

"You picked it out!" Zuko points out, voice hushed but heated.

"Well, yeah, but I didn't realize it was gonna be about—" Sokka gesticulates wildly towards the book, garbled, unintelligible noises spilling out of his mouth.

Zuko, apparently just as embarrassed and uncomfortable as Sokka is, just rubs the back of his neck while studying the table. "Look, I already told you, I don't care that you're into . . . literotica—"

"Oh, my Spirits, _never _say that word again."

"—but if you wanted to learn more about sex, I'm sure you could ask—"

Wait. Wait, what? What is he _on _about? Sex? If Sokka wants to—oh. OH. Oh, SHIT. "No!" Sokka interrupts hurriedly. "That is not—NO!"

"SHHH!" A girl sitting at the table beside them shoots the pair a dark look before returning to her reading.

Sokka lowers his voice, leaning closer to Zuko to be heard. "That is _not_—I'm not—I'm not looking for information on _sex, _okay?" he grits out between his teeth.

The firebender mimics Sokka's actions, eyes darting to and fro as if afraid someone might be listening in on their conversation. "Then what the hell are you doing with these types of books?"

"I didn't _know _they were—_these types of books!_"

Oh, Spirits, this is _humiliating. _Pulling back, Sokka begins sorting through one of the piles of tomes. _Soulful Reunion, Soul Searching, Spiritual Connection, Two Lost Souls_—oh, my SPIRITS, how many romance novels are there? Zuko soon catches on and begins going through the remaining pile.

Over two-thirds of the selections turn out to be bad romance novels, and part way through the process of categorizing, Sokka begins reading aloud some of the more ridiculous plot summaries to Zuko.

"'A voluptuous, provocative woman resigned to a life of one-night stands and empty sex finds herself lost in the woods during a camping trip gone wrong. Something sinister lurks in the shadows—" Here, Sokka wiggles his fingers for effect. "—but is it really something sinister? Or could it be her," pause dramatically, "knight in tarnished armor?'"

Zuko snickers, deciding to read a passage from his own pile—something about a girl falling in love with some Frankenstein-esque creature that emits the smell of roses when he touches water. And thus it continues, each boy trying to outdo the other in absurdity and laughs getting increasingly harder to contain with every passing minute.

Sokka can't even imagine how this could get any better—until he comes across a book with pictures. Oh, this is _priceless. _He jumps out of his seat and crowds Zuko at his side, pointing out the impossibly "perfect" features of the painted men and women ("Dude, how do you think she can even _eat _anything with that teeny, tiny waist?"

"Well, Sokka, it says here that the only thing she needs or wants is her 'lover's sweet, sweet nectar' to keep her full."

"It does _not _say that!"

"I swear to you it does."

"Oh, my SPIRITS, this is gold!").

Ever since arriving at this academy, Sokka's life has just been one giant, jumbled jigsaw with countless missing pieces, and when he does find a piece, it doesn't fit into the puzzle at all, only reveals more empty spaces that need to be filled up. Seeing Katara every day again is definitely a plus, even if she is incredibly furious with him, but her company and sisterly love still can't clear away the dark clouds hanging over Sokka's head. And sure, Toph and Aang are nice—they're great friends, in fact, and Sokka makes a mental note to spend more time with them.

Zuko, though . . . Spirits, Sokka can't remember having this much fun with another person in a long, long while. Just enjoying another person's company—laughing and smiling and joking. Sokka kind of wants it to last forever. Because he feels better now—so much better. Far from okay, nowhere near it, not with Ozai and his whole soul situation, but better. Definitely better.

"Oh, Spirits," Sokka gasps, wiping a tear of mirth from his eyes. "Oh, this is hilarious. I think I'm gonna get abs from laughing so much."

Zuko is no better, eyes bright with exhilaration and face flushed from laughing. Sokka thinks it's a good look for him.

"You should smile more often," he says before he can even _think _to stop himself. Maybe he should start carrying around a roll of tape just for situations like this. Then again, his mouth is always running off and spouting shit without his brain's permission, what makes him think it'll give him fair warning as to when it's gonna do it? That would defeat the whole purpose of being a stupid big, fat mouth.

"Um, thanks," Zuko murmurs, tugging lightly at a loose thread on his uniform. And Sokka could totally be imagining this, but he thinks the firebender sounds rather pleased at the compliment. But he probably is just imagining it. Wishful thinking and all. Not that he wishes—

Okay. Stop. Stop thinking now. Before he goes and says something even more compromising.

Sokka collapses into the chair beside Zuko with a content sigh, letting the firebender's heat and the sunlight streaming in from the windows warm him. He can feel Zuko's eyes on him, but when he turns to stare right back, the firebender doesn't turn away. This is definitely . . . different. The past hour, every time Sokka caught Zuko staring, the latter would blush lightly and quickly avert his gaze while Sokka would duck his head to hide his smirk.

But this . . . this feels . . . _charged. _Anticipation wells up inside of Sokka, making him inexplicably nervous.

"I've really missed you," Zuko whispers.

Sokka's breath hitches and—Did Zuko's face just get closer? 'Cause it sure seems like it did. WOW, is it close. Not that . . . Not that that's a bad thing. In fact, it's kind of okay. Maybe more than okay. Spirits, his scent is intoxicating, still just as amazing as Sokka remembers. Like autumn leaves and warm smoke and something sweet, something spicy. But more than that, it's like—like—like everything he's never realized he's always wanted. Until now.

Sokka feels his breathing grow quicker, more shallow, as his heart _thump-tha-thumps _a tattoo against his ribs. Zuko's pupils are blown wide, surrounded by a bright, golden ring, and Sokka finds them absolutely mesmerizing, almost hating when his eyelids flutter shut. But he's more than appeased by the thought of what comes next, the thought of finally, finally—

_RRRING-RRRING-RRRRRING!_

Zuko jerks back and away, blinking rapidly as if working his way out of a trance. Sokka silently curses the school bell and its terribly, horribly wretched timing. Because he and Zuko—they were gonna—he could practically—

"I—I should go," says Zuko, standing stiffly and running a hand through his hair. "I, um, I've got training next period."

"Right," Sokka says, valiantly keeping any sourness from seeping into his tone and getting up as well. He grabs Zuko's wrist almost on impulse before the firebender can leave. "Do you wanna maybe . . . hang out later? I—I mean, we still haven't really, um, talked or whatever. Y'know. About that thing that you wanted to talk about last night before Katara kinda blew up in—"

"Yeah," Zuko chuckles, cutting the Water Tribe boy off. "After dinner?"

Sokka is trying _really _hard to keep from smiling right now but that Herculean feat is proving more and more impossible around Zuko. Sokka's going to also try really hard not to think about what that means. "Yeah. After dinner. The garden?"

"Yeah." And then Zuko's gone, leaving behind a very happy, very ecstatic Sokka. A Sokka who is also late to his next class because he spent a good two minutes just standing in the library and staring off into space with a goofy smile on his face.

But Sokka doesn't mind. He doesn't even mind that although he'd gone to the library to do some much needed research on his current predicament, he is absolutely zero percent more enlightened than before. Even Katara's (poorly) concealed scowls and evil eyes directed at him can't dampen his mood. Today is definitely a good day for Sokka.

* * *

Today is definitely a bad day for Sokka.

"Concentrate."

"I _am._"

"I didn't tell you to speak. I told you to _concentrate._"

A muscle in Sokka's jaw tics as he harshly grinds his teeth.

He really has no idea what Ozai wants from him. The guy keeps telling Sokka that there's a "presence" in the room, that he should be able to hear it speak, feel its malice in the core of his very being or something. Sokka wasn't really paying attention to the Fire Lord's blathering. Maybe he should have, yeah. But he doesn't really _care. _Because he's already made up his mind that he doesn't _want _this "presence" in his head.

What Sokka _has _gleaned from Ozai's prattling is that this thing wants to take control of his body, and that's just not going to fly with him. He also recalls something about how the thing needs to occupy his soulless body so that it could then just basically switch places with Sokka's soul inside the snowflake charm. End result: Sokka gets his soul back—great. But then what? Why the hell does the thing want to be stuck inside a little crystal snowflake? And why not just let Sokka have his soul back then have the thing go into the crystal? Wouldn't that save everybody a whole heap of trouble?

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that the thing wants a body. But then why not just take Sokka's body since it's already empty? Not that that should be interpreted as some invitation to be possessed. It just . . . makes sense, is all. Maybe it wants a bender? Pssh. Benders are so overrated; Sokka can still kick ass and he doesn't need to throw around blocks of dirt or breathe fire or splash some water or huff and puff like some big bad wolf.

Whatever. It's the thing's loss.

There's another thing that really bugs Sokka. Actually, a lot of things bug Sokka. It can't occupy a body with a soul—not completely, anyway. So what's it gonna do after it goes into the charm? Just wait around for a soulless bender to come strolling along? Then why wait inside the charm at all? Why not just go about as it always has until the time comes?

Spirits, his head hurts.

And there are still so many unanswered questions, so much unexplained phenomena, so many missing puzzle pieces.

Tomorrow, he's going to the library. And he's going to get some _actual _work done. Things can't possibly get any more confusing.

So why does Sokka feel like he just jinxed himself by thinking that?

"You're not concentrating!"

Sokka opens his eyes. "I am too!" he insists despite the fact that Ozai is absolutely and completely correct.

"You are _hopeless, _boy," the Fire Lord growls, teeth bared.

"What, you expected this to be _easy?_" Sokka scoffs incredulously. "You act as if I _want _to help you."

"Maybe I haven't made myself clear enough, peasant." A candle flares fiercely beside Sokka, almost burning him, and the Water Tribe boy flinches. "Your grandmother's life hangs on the success of this transfusion. Or perhaps that's not enough motivation for you." A smirk finds its way to Ozai's lips, a smirk that invokes a feeling of nausea within Sokka. A smirk that leaves him feeling cold with dread even in the unbearably sweltering heat of the room. "Perhaps . . . Perhaps your sister might be able to persuade you to be a bit more cooperative, hm?"

"You wouldn't _dare,_" Sokka hisses, just one more threat away from turning into a rabid, frothing Fire Lord killer. Fuck that damn soul charm, fuck his life, fuck everything. If Sokka goes down, then he'll just make sure to take Ozai with him.

"Wouldn't I?"

A silent stand-off (well, technically, sit-off) ensues, neither of the two wanting to back down and accept defeat, accept that he is the "weaker man." And so they remain, cobalt eyes locked on golden orbs. It could be minutes, it could be hours, it could be days that pass, but neither of the pair notice.

Even when the school bell rings dismissing waterbenders from practice and announcing that earthbending training will be starting soon, the two don't look away from each other. Even as the Water Tribe boy climbs to his feet and makes his way to the door, the two don't look away from each other. Not until Sokka has stepped out into the Fire Lord's den and the door closes are their gazes broken.

Sokka yanks on his shirt and storms off to find his sister. It doesn't matter that she won't talk to him, that she'll spend all of their next class together simmering and pouting and glowering at him. He knows nothing will happen to her due to his unspoken agreement with Ozai. But he has to make sure. He just has to make sure. He should write home to Gran-Gran. Yeah. He'll do that. And Dad. He'll write to Dad.

Sokka will help Ozai. But that doesn't mean he can't be a paranoid little maniac about his family while he does it.

* * *

"GAH! AANG! Would you call your giant licking machine off?!"

The airbender laughs from atop his sky bison's head, running his fingers through Appa's thick fur. "That just means he likes you, Sokka!"

"Well, could he like me with less _tongue?_" the Water Tribe boy shrieks, lying on the ground where Appa had knocked him over and fending off the appendage coating him in copious amounts of saliva.

Aang laughs, jumping off the sky bison's head and retrieving an apple from some secret fold in his robes. "Here ya go, boy," he says, holding the red fruit out to Appa.

Sokka groans, relieved but still completely grossed out. He's getting to his feet just as Momo swoops in and seizes the apple before the sky bison can eat it. Appa growls angrily and loudly—oh, so very loudly; Sokka's sure that his eardrums are positively obliterated by now—before taking off after the little lemur.

"Wait!" Aang shouts, already whipping out his glider. "Appa, wait! I have another one!" But the large brute of an animal has already taken off. "Aw, cucumbers," the little Air Nomad grumbles, soaring off after them.

"W—Aang! AANG!" Sokka cries out distraughtly. Oh, _fuck._

Sokka's brow spasms as he slowly executes a 360-turn. Sky bison. Everywhere. He gulps. One of the bison comes trudging up to him, snout twitching as it sniffs at him. "H-Hi there, big guy," he whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut.

Aang said these things are really nice, right? Just—Just calm down. They won't hurt you, they won't hurt you, they won't hurt you. There is absolutely _nothing _to be afraid—

"EEP!" Sokka jolts suddenly when he experiences the sensation of something crawling up his leg. He cracks an eye open. Relief courses through him, then humiliation, then indignation. "Momo, you little furball!" he screams, grabbing onto the lemur that has since wrapped itself around his neck and shaking it violently. "You scared the shit out of me!"

"Sokka! What're you _doing?_"

"I'm teaching this little bastard a lesson!" the Water Tribe boy replies, still roughly shaking the lemur. However, Aang makes a grab for Momo, clutching the little creature to his chest.

"Sokka!" Aang scolds despairingly, worry etched on his face.

Momo goes cross-eyed as the world attempts to right itself.

Appa lands down beside them, chewing contently on an apple.

Aang holds the lemur at arm's length to study him. "Hey, Momo? You okay, little guy?"

"Pfft, he'll be fine," Sokka says breezily, stepping up beside the airbender. "Hey, Momo," he says, raising a hand up, "how many fingers am I holding up?"

Momo chirps dazedly.

"See?" Sokka reiterates. "Perfectly fine!"

Aang just arches a dubious eyebrow at him.

"Hey! I've been lookin' all over for you two!" an irritable voice calls out from behind the gates that open out to the field specially reserved for sky bison.

"Oh, hey, Toph!" Aang greets merrily, already back to his bubbly self.

Sokka _would _say hi but Appa has since decide once more that the Water Tribe boy is his personal human lollipop. Great. Now Sokka's going to have nightmares about being some giant, blue raspberry-flavored lollipop that's going to be devoured by this giant, furry, flying beast.

"What're you two doing out there?" Toph shouts. "It's almost time for dinner! And I can't make any guarantees that I won't eat your food if you're not there!"

"Okay, coming!" Aang hollers back. Then he turns to look at his friend on the ground. "I'll meet you in the dining room, 'kay? 'Kay!"

"Wait—Wait, what? Aang, WHAT? NO! GET BACK HERE!" Sokka panics, flailing and squirming desperately in a futile endeavor to wriggle out from under Appa's massive paw. "AANG, YOU LITTLE—_GAH, _APPA, STOP _LICKING _ME!"

* * *

Sokka comes plodding into the dining hall, _squelch-squelch-squelching _with every step that he takes and clothes dripping with sky bison spit. He plops down beside his sister and, angry as she is towards him, even she can't quite hide her amusement. Sokka turns to the airbender.

"Just so you know," he deadpans, "I hate you."

While Aang and Katara break out into laughter, Toph just blinks blankly at the trio.

"What?" she asks. "What's so funny?"


	14. Chapter 14

"So how was your day, Zuzu?"

Zuko's eye twitches, but otherwise, his face remains expressionless and stony. "Why do you care?" he asks, slanting his eyes at Azula sitting adjacent to him.

"That is no way to speak to your sister, Zuko," his father reprimands from the head of the table.

Azula dons a look of hurt, but she doesn't fool Zuko. She never has. "No, Father, it's alright. Zuko's going through a rough time, I understand."

"Hn." Ozai returns to his conversation with Long Feng, Grand Secretariat of Ba Sing Se.

Zuko sets his chopsticks down, lowering the volume of his voice, but not the intensity of it. "I don't know what you're playing at, Azula, but it won't work."

The cherry in Azula's hand drops to the table as she furrows her brow, perfectly playing the role of the bewildered, vulnerable little sister. "Whatever are you talking about, Zuko? I haven't done anything wrong."

And she's right. She hasn't. But that's just the thing about Azula. You don't know what she's planning to do until long after it's too late to stop her. Yeah, well, not this time. Ever since Sokka showed up at this school she's been acting strangely, but Zuko will be damned if he lets her do anything to hurt Sokka.

"Father, may I be excused?" says Zuko, gaze only breaking from hers to address their father.

Ozai doesn't even spare his son a glance, just a cursory nod as he seamlessly carries on his discussion with Long Feng. And Zuko is foolish enough to think that he's actually going to leave his father's personal dining hall without incident, without question. Apparently, Azula has other ideas.

"Where are you going, Zuko? You've barely eaten."

The firebender grits his teeth, looking over his shoulder at his sister and her knowing smirk. Zuko likes to think that he's pretty good at hiding his emotions, his thoughts. But lying to Azula is akin to hiding from a shirshu: nearly impossible. "I'm going for a walk." Technically not untrue.

"Really?" she says, coyly twirling a strand of her hair as she lounges in her chair. Zuko wishes she would just drop the act and go back to being the cut-throat, cold-blooded human being that everybody knows her to be. "Would you like some company?"

"No," Zuko rejoinders, shoulders stiffening. "I really wouldn't."

"Oh, but Zuzu," she says, already pushing her chair back, "we spend so very little time together. A walk sounds nice, doesn't it, Father?"

Zuko bristles, the look on his father's face enough to make him want to bolt right then and there. Ozai doesn't really appreciate interruptions—Zuko should know that better than anyone—and he's already had three in no more than five minutes. But maybe this is what Azula's wanted all along.

The Fire Lord sighs softly, irritation flashing in his eyes for just a split second when they land on his son. But it's so quick, so brief, so transient, that Zuko could have completely imagined it. However, though Zuko may be many things (closed off, short-tempered, and angry—just to name a few), naive isn't one of them.

Which is why he would really like to leave _right now._

"I apologize deeply, Grand Secretariat," says Ozai, nodding at Long Feng, "but please excuse my children. You know how they can be."

"Oh, no, it's quite alright," the earthbender says from his seat across from Azula. "Please, no apology is needed. Even as Fire Lord, family must come first, yes?"

". . . Indeed." Ozai dabs at his mouth with a napkin. "I won't be but a moment," he informs Long Feng as he gets to his feet.

Fuck. This won't be good. _Fuck_, but Zuko needs to think of something _now. _Father wouldn't do anything, not when they've got company, but later . . . Zuko's fingers twitch, wanting to reach up, up towards his face, towards—

_BANG._

All heads pivot in the direction of the double doors that had just been swung open, a Fire Nation guard hustling in. "Your Majesty," he addresses, bowing deeply but concisely, "I have urgent matters to discuss with you."

"What is it?"

The guard eyes the royal children out of his peripheral. "It's . . . about the boy."

The tension resulting from that statement is almost palpable as it rolls off of Ozai. "Azula, Zuko, please leave the room."

Azula seems almost as if she's going to protest—and Zuko wouldn't put it past her, not even with Father in the picture—but he doesn't care. He doesn't care about that, he doesn't care about what Azula will do, he doesn't care about how his father will react.

_The boy._

Maybe if his heart weren't in the process of forcing its way out of his chest, then Zuko might admit that he's being a bit presumptuous.

_It's about the boy._

Maybe if not for the deafening waterfall of blood rushing through his ears, Zuko might be able to hear the voice of reason inside his head telling him that the guard could have meant anything, that he could have been talking about anybody.

_The boy._

Maybe if he'd stop sprinting like a madman through the halls to the school gardens, Zuko might be able to take a moment and breathe, just breathe, and go about this in a calmer, more orderly manner.

But as it were, his heart _is _attempting to beat and shove and force its way out of his aching chest. His blood _is _whooshing and pulsing and circulating through his veins, his being, his everything. And he _is _running like mad to the school gardens, every thumping footfall just as erratic and unbalanced as the _thump-tha-thumps _in his rib cage.

_It's about the boy._

_It's about the boy._

_It's about Sokka._

* * *

Empty. The gardens are empty. Why are they empty? Spirits, Zuko wishes he'd been wrong.

But he isn't.

Sokka's not here. Zuko wasn't wrong.

Then where is he? He wasn't with the guard—maybe somebody took him, maybe—

Could Sokka be . . . but that's not—he can't—Spirits, his thoughts are morbid. Zuko just needs to settle down and stop being so damn dramatic. There's an explanation, of course there is. There's always—

Zuko clutches at his hair, falling to his knees in the soft, green grass. "Fuck," he rasps, hands fisting the soft, green grass now. "_Fuck._" It's soft, the green grass. A broken sob leaves Zuko's throat and the soft, green grass surrounding him goes up in flames.

* * *

"Spirits, I swear that these damn vines are trying to eat me u—GAAAH! WHAT IS _THA_—oh. Ahem. Just a bug. Fuck, nobody better have—Spirits _damn _it, you stupid, ugly vine, let _go _of—er. Um. Wow." Sokka blinks as he staggers into one of the circular clearings in the gardens. "I remember this place looking much less . . . smoky. Alth—er, Zuko?"

Sokka knits his brow, taking in the sight before him. "Spirits, Zuko, the fuck happ—_oomph._"

"You idiot. You fucking stupid idiot."

"Hey!" Sokka exclaims, arms still hovering awkwardly away from the firebender's body. "You can't just _hug _me and call me an idiot at the same—"

"Shut up, Sokka."

Zuko's arms tighten around the Water Tribe boy and shutting up shouldn't be a problem at all considering how Sokka can't even _breathe _right n—wait. Is that—Is he—

"Zuko, are you . . . are you crying?"

In place of a verbal answer, the firebender just buries his nose into Sokka's neck and yep, those—those are definitely tears.

"Hey," Sokka soothes softly, finally returning the embrace, "hey, buddy, it's okay. Just let it out, just let it out." He rubs calming circles across Zuko's back, pillowing his cheek against the firebender's shoulder and whispering little, sweet nothings into his good ear.

Fuck, is Zuko hot.

Er, literally. He means that LITERALLY. Seriously, the guy is like a friggin' radiator. And his breath against Sokka's neck is really . . . really . . .

"You're late," Zuko says suddenly, but he doesn't release Sokka from his hold.

"Er, yeah, sorry," the Water Tribe boy chuckles with just a hint of chagrin, still rubbing large circles on the other's back and—did Zuko just moan? He did. He totally just did. Did he? No. No, that's not—Of course not. Fuck. Talk. Now. "You know me, always fashionably late. Or just late. But 'fashionably' adds a bit of flair to it, don't'cha think?"

"Actually, I don't really know you," Zuko reminds him. However, before Sokka can reply to that, the firebender goes on to say, "But I'd really like to."

Is that—Was that—Did Zuko just—

That was a line, wasn't it? That totally was. Or maybe Sokka only thinks that because Zuko said it. With a voice like that and looks like his—Spirits, this close proximity is doing absolutely zilch to bring any adequate blood flow to Sokka's brain. NOT that the blood flow is going anywhere else. At all.

Fuck.

Sokka jumps back, breaking away from the other boy and laughing nervously as he scratches the back of his neck. "Yeah, I'd like that too," he says. Friends. Zuko obviously meant that as friends. That wasn't a line; Sokka's getting completely ahead of himself. If he starts thinking—_hoping_—that this is anything more, he'll just . . . he'll just get hurt.

So he needs to stop. And he will.

But then Zuko's smiling at him, face still streaked with tears—so he _can _cry with both eyes—and Sokka isn't sure if he can do this. If he can be Zuko's friend and see him every day and talk to him and be so happy with him yet . . . not.

But Zuko's _smiling _at him. And Sokka thinks that he'd rather put up with this unrequited love bullshit than ever go another day without seeing that.

So he grins right back and begins walking, bumping shoulders with Zuko when the firebender catches up to him. Except—

"Seriously, man, do you just have some personal vendetta against plant life or do all firebenders just set whole gardens on fire when the mood strikes them?"

Zuko just looks at him, unimpressed. "I thought you'd—" He stops short, turning his head away from Sokka to gaze up at the looming lamplights lining the paths of the gardens. "I wasn't . . . feeling okay."

Sokka quirks an eyebrow. "Yeah, no shit. You gonna tell me what the hell that was all about?" he asks, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Er . . . no."

The Water Tribe boy rolls his eyes. He's about to open his mouth and pry for more information—Zuko can't throw a scene like that and expect Sokka to just _ignore_ it or let it go—when the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He doesn't stop walking though, just moves closer to Zuko.

Ever since he'd left the dining hall Sokka's been trying to shake off the feeling that he's being . . . _followed, _that someone's watching him. But he'd definitely heard something from behind them. One peek at Zuko confirms that the firebender heard it too.

It could just be a guard sent to keep an eye on Zuko—he _is _the Fire Nation Prince, after all. However, Sokka's instincts are telling him that it isn't. And his instincts haven't been wrong yet.

Sokka catches Zuko's gaze, attempting to convey his question with just his eyes. _What do you think we should do?_

Zuko takes on a grave expression as he covertly inspects their location. It takes Sokka a moment to realize that he's searching for a weapon. But he's got fire, why would he need—oh. _Oh._ The Water Tribe boy blinks to himself in surprise. Zuko's looking for a weapon for _Sokka. _Well, that's . . . that's actually awfully nice of him. But unless Sokka plans on running up to their stalker with a bushel of moon flowers and blowing pollen into the person's face to induce a fatal case of sneezing, he doesn't have much to work with.

Sokka lightly grabs Zuko's elbow just as they pass by a large, stone fountain. _It's okay, _he tries to say. _I can handle myself._

Zuko is more than a little skeptical. _Maybe you should just hang back, _his eyes say.

Sokka frowns, determination set in the crease of his brow. _Just try and stop me._

Zuko sighs, grudgingly yielding. _Fine, _his golden orbs accede, his eyebrows adding their own two bits of, _but don't expect me to like it._

Sokka flashes him a short-lived smile, sobering instantaneously when there's another rustle from behind them.

_On three? _Zuko asks wordlessly with three steady blinks.

Sokka nods. _On three._

_One . . ._

_Two . . ._

Then a thought occurs to Sokka. Does Zuko mean _on _on three or _after _on three? Hasn't he run across this problem before already? Fuck, this "on three" bullshit is way too open for interpretation. People should come up with a different way to count off. Sokka's about to ask Zuko what he thinks of his idea about saying "rock, paper, scissors" instead since everybody seems to know when to go _then_, but Zuko's not there.

Oh, FUCK. Stalker. Stalking them. Danger.

"Shit," Sokka hisses under his breath, turning on his heel just in time to see Zuko dodging a flurry of tiny, sharp icicles. A waterbender.

Sokka charges forward—fuck, but these are the times when the loss of his trusty boomerang really, truly hits him—and . . . well, _fuck _again. There's nothing he _can _do except start swinging. So he does, pulling his right fist back and putting some extra spring in his elbow as he—

"GUWAH!" Sokka thrashes around for a moment, confused as to why the hell he's suddenly stopped moving. Then he looks down. His feet are encased in ice. "Damn it!" he yells, jerking his head back up to watch Zuko engaged in battle with the waterbender, face hidden under a black bandana and a black hood to go with the rest of their all-black ensemble. But Sokka swears that . . . ugh, whatever. Doesn't matter. "Lemme go, you asshole!"

He's ignored.

The waterbender draws their power from the fountain nearby and the moon up above, sending a powerful jet of water towards Zuko. Sokka continues struggling, even going so far as to yank on one of his legs in an effort to work it free from the ice, glancing up every now and then to ensure that Zuko's okay.

. . . But what the hell is Zuko doing?

"Zuko, what are you _doing?_" Sokka shouts, voicing his thoughts aloud. "Stop _dodging _and start _fighting!_" Zuko doesn't acknowledge him, doesn't even seem to hear him. Why is he holding back? He should be smoking that waterbender's ass!

A large wave of water comes rushing at Zuko, overpowering him and washing over him.

"_Zuko!_" Sokka screams, worry gripping him hard in the chest. But then Zuko appears at the crest of the wave—coughing and spluttering and thoroughly incapacitated by the spikes of ice enshrouding him—but he's okay. He's okay, he's okay, Zuko's okay.

However, once Sokka gets free, that damn waterbender won't be quite so okay anymore. Maybe even just a little bit dead. Just a little.

The waterbender steps into the little circle of light provided by the lamplight just meters away, then slowly treads their way to stand before Zuko.

"What do you want?" the firebender growls, clenching his fists—the only parts of him that are visible, along with his head.

The waterbender says nothing, doesn't react. Just manipulates a puddle of water at their feet into an ice dagger.

Dread. So much dread manifests itself inside of Sokka. "Get away from him, you bastard!" The waterbender's blue, blue eyes flicker over to the Water Tribe boy, just momentarily. But that's all it takes. All it takes for it to hit Sokka like a punch to the gut. Those eyes. "_Katara?!_"

* * *

**A/N: This chapter was really . . . I dunno. The first part is so blech to me. Maybe I just suck at writing Zuko.**

**But don't worry. I will definitely work on it.**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: I'd just like to give a _big, big _public thank you to** akira mizaki**! Your reviews and kind words are just so friggin'—they're just—they really make my day, y'know?**

**You're like the band-aid to my boo-boo. Or something. Something that sounds less creepy than that.**

**But seriously, thank you. (:**

**And thank YOU, reader. All you lovely, lovely readers (yep, all 6 of you guys or, er, whatever—that number is completely made up) who have stuck it with me this far, thank you so, so much.**

* * *

"What the HELL are you doing, Katara?!"

"I have to do this, Sokka," she says, voice coming out muffled from behind the cloth wrapped around her face.

"Do WHAT?" he screeches, panicky and hysterical. "KILL him? KILL Zuko?!" This doesn't make any—"Why are you _doing _this, Katara?!" Sokka gets that she's mad at him. But certainly not this mad. Not mad enough to commit _murder._

"I'm doing this for you, Sokka."

"Have you fucking LOST it, Katara?!" Sokka looks to Zuko, eyes pleading for him to _do _something, to burn his way out of the ice, _anything _but just let her fucking _kill _him. But he's not looking at Sokka. He's not even looking at Katara. He's just hanging his head, shaggy hair creating a curtain around his face, like he's—like he's just going to _give up._

What the FUCK is going on right now?

"Stop!"

Sokka pauses in the middle of scrabbling and scratching at his ice-encased feet upon hearing the voice—a man's voice, an unfamiliar one—and lifts his head. Katara has . . . she's just _frozen. _Not . . . Not ice frozen. Just . . . like a robot. A robot that's been programmed to cease all functions. Her eyes glaze over just as a man steps forward—an earthbender, possibly someone important, someone with power, judging from the way he carries himself.

Zuko's head snaps up at this, shock and recognition and confusion written all over his face. "Long Feng?"

Long Feng? Who the fuck is Long Feng?

Spirits, would someone just _let Sokka out of this ice trap already?!_

"Prince Zuko." The man bows, seemingly unfazed by the fact that the Fire Nation Prince is stuck in a giant, spiky block of solid water.

Maybe everybody's gone insane. Maybe the whole world is filled with absolutely crazy people and Sokka is the only sane one left and it's up to him to save the day with nothing but his wits, his charm, and his trusty boomerang.

. . . Or maybe all of this is completely normal and Sokka hasn't lost just his boomerang. Maybe somewhere along the line, he lost his sanity too.

"I apologize profusely, sire," the man goes on to say, still bowing. "This was never supposed to happen." His eyes flick over to Katara, a sneer marring his face. "She was never supposed to _harm _you."

"'This was never supposed to happen'?!" Sokka quotes. "Fuck, I can't even—just—what did you do to my sister?" he demands. Relief had flooded him upon the realization that Katara is obviously not herself right now—she's definitely under some mind control crap or something—but with it came a feeling of self-loathing.

She's his sister. He's her big brother. And yet . . . there she is. Locked somewhere deep inside of herself while this man just does with her what he pleases, like she's nothing more than a doll, a toy, a puppet. When did this happen? How long has this been going on? How long has Sokka been neglecting his little sister in favor of his own problems? Granted, they're pretty big problems. But Katara . . . Katara is his _sister._

"You will speak when spoken to, _peasant._"

Oh, great, another snotty, high-and-mighty, "I'm better than you, pah!" douchenozzle.

"Long Feng!" The earthbender resumes bowing at the sound of Zuko's voice. "You will not speak to him that way, do you understand?"

Silence. Then, "Yes . . . sire."

Well, damn. Sokka can definitely get used to being friends with Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation.

"Now I order you to release me. And I want an explanation. And it better be good."

Long Feng straightens up, but he makes no move to help Zuko. In fact, he seems rather . . . smug of himself. Sokka doesn't like this. He likes it even less when the guy smirks at Zuko.

"Actually, my lord," the earthbender says, and the title somehow comes out seeming both sincere and mocking, "I have some other plans in mind. And releasing you doesn't happen to be a part of them."

"_What?_" Zuko snarls dangerously, and it'd be almost intimidating. Almost. Y'know, if it weren't for his current predicament of total immobilization.

Sokka wonders why the guy would bother adhering to Zuko's first order if he's just going to ignore all the subsequent ones. Then he wonders if this is the part where Long Feng delves into his evil villain monologue. He is sorely disappointed.

"Guards."

Two men step forward from the shadows—two _Fire Nation _men. "What is the meaning of this?" Zuko asks, the ice already melting from his heat. But it's too slow, it's not enough. "I'm not going anywhere with you until you tell me what the hell you think you're doing," he stipulates sternly.

Sokka has long since gone back to clawing at the ice around his feet, but it's no good. He can't—Spirits, why can't he ever fucking _do _anything? All he's done since that day the firebenders came to the South Pole is submit, sit by and watch, utterly useless. His fingers are numb from the strain and the cold of picking at the ice, but it's hopeless. This whole damn thing is just so fucking—Zuko's going to be taken away to who the fuck knows where and Sokka . . .

A large icicle lays just out of Sokka's reach.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Water Tribe boy observes as Long Feng orders Katara to handcuff Zuko.

Sokka crouches low, leaning to the left to reach towards the icicle. It's uncomfortable, very uncomfortable, since his legs are still stuck. But if he just . . . Sweat pools on his forehead and he chances a glance towards the others. Katara's already behind Zuko, already bending the water and pulling his arms back. _Just hold on, Zuko, just keep fighting and hold on . . ._

It's so fucking _close. _Sokka can feel it brushing against the tips of his fingers. He just—fuck, just a little more. His obliques and his back are screaming at him but he ignores it. His shins and his calves refuse to cooperate with him—not that they can—but he pushes through it. His arm keeps shaking and he's afraid—so, so afraid—that he'll only push the icicle away rather than bring it closer to him. A finger. He's got his index finger wrapped around one end. Now he just needs to slowly . . . carefully . . . delicately . . . drag it towards him. Yes . . . fuck, _yes _. . . fuck, no, no, no, don't slip away, don't slip away. Please don't slip away, don't do this to him. When it's finally, finally, _finally_ within reach, Sokka grasps it in his palm and he breathes.

He takes in a ragged, shaky breath but he's breathing. He's breathing and he has a weapon.

"Oh, no, you don't."

"FUCK!" Sokka tries to wrench free from the hand clamped on his arm. But maybe he doesn't need to get free. Maybe if he can just push hard enough, he can shove the point of the icicle into—

"I don't quite see what all the fuss is about," Long Feng murmurs nonchalantly, as if he doesn't currently have his hand around a certain Water Tribe boy's windpipe, as if he isn't choking the living daylights out of that very same Water Tribe boy.

Sokka's grip on the icicle goes limp and it clatters to the ground. He paws weakly at the earthbender's arm. He's stronger than this guy, he can—he can—fuck, he can't. He _can't_—

"Sokka! Fuck, _let me go! _I am your _prince, _and I order you to release me _now!_"

Long Feng tilts his head side to side, as if evaluating Sokka, treating Sokka like a contestant in a dog show competition, something to be judged and nitpicked. "You seem rather ordinary if you ask me," he says, frowning thoughtfully.

"Damn it, Katara, _do something! _That's your _brother!_ Fuck—do you think my father will let you get away with this?"

Sokka's stopped resisting. His eyelids keep drooping. Or are they? Fuck if he knows. Everything's already so _dark, _he can barely see anything.

"Sleep, boy. Your prince can't save you now . . ."

* * *

"Hey, Toph," Aang starts as he ducks then jumps immediately afterwards to evade being pummeled by the rocky projectiles the earthbender sends his way.

"Yeah?" Toph grunts, face pinched in concentration. She really hates airbenders. "You gonna fight back anytime soon, Twinkle Toes, or are ya just gonna keep dancing around?"

Aang pays her no mind. "Have you seen Katara and Sokka?" With a hard gust of wind, the airbender propels himself backwards then up to land on the column of rock that had just cropped up from the ground. "I haven't seen them all morning."

"Damn it, Twinkle Toes!"

Toph stomps her right foot and the rock column drops out from underneath Aang's feet, but he catches himself easily, floating harmlessly down to the ground. However, the earthbender had anticipated this and shapes two hollow hemispheres of rock to flank the airbender. She brings the two halves together and Aang cries out in shock. Now, since Aang's in the air, she has no idea how far up from the ground he is. So if she miscalculated, she could've totally just crushed her friend's head. Or his legs.

But she trusts herself and her skills. So he's okay. Probably.

The spherical rock drops to the ground and—lo and behold!—Aang is still whole.

Toph throws her arms up in victory, smiling and bowing to an imaginary audience. "Yeah! WHOO-HOO!" She cups her hands around her mouth and imitates the sound of a cheering crowd. "Blind Bandit! Blind Bandit!" she chants.

Meanwhile, Aang is still recovering from his mini-heart attack. His life had seriously just flashed right before his very eyes. Maybe he should just come right out and tell Katara how he feels already . . .

Oh, yeah. _Katara. _Still missing.

"Um . . . hey, Toph?" Aang says, curled up inside the hollow ball of rock. "Do ya think you could let me out n—GWAH!" Taken by surprise, the airbender's body ungracefully unfurls itself to lay sprawled out on the ground of the training courtyard. But he doesn't mind. He's just glad to be out of that claustrophobic nightmare. "Ah, fresh air," he breathes, closing his eyes and smiling up at the sun. Enclosed spaces are _so _not for him.

Toph steps up to look down at him. "So what were you saying, Twinkle Toes?"

Aang opens his eyes, the glaring glow of the sun blocked out by Toph's head. "Katara. And Sokka. Have you seen them?"

The earthbender cocks her head to the side. "Huh. Well, now that you mention it, it _is _strangely quiet without Sugar Queen's yapping."

Aang pushes himself to his feet with a soft burst of air. "Yeah! And Sokka's not here complaining about how he has to wake up early just to watch a bunch o' benders fight each other."

Toph frowns. "Hm." She rubs her chin in mock-thoughtfulness. "Y'know, now that I think about it, I don't see the downside to this."

"To-o-o-ph!" Aang whines. "This is serious! Katara never misses mixed bending practice!"

Toph can't quite deny the truth of that statement. After all, it's practically become part of Sugar Queen's routine to challenge that Phoenix Prince guy at every weekly session. Toph doesn't get why; sure, she may not like him, but that's 'cause she doesn't _know him. _That's also why she doesn't despise him as deeply and thoroughly as Madame Fussy Britches does.

"Alright," she acquiesces with a sigh, "so I'll admit that somethin' weird is going on." The bell rings. "But let's worry about that after breakfast!"

"Wh—Toph!" But the earthbender's already gone. Aang huffs, pouting. "When did Toph get Sokka's one-track stomach?" he mutters to himself, already trudging off towards the mess hall.

* * *

"Urgh." Spirits, does his throat hurt. It's not very bright in his room. Thank the Spirits—it's still night. Good. Sleepy, sleepy times await him.

"Sokka?"

The Water Tribe boy groans, reaching for the pillow under his head to—wait. There's no pillow. Damn. Did it somehow fall off his bed? Without opening his eyes, Sokka turns onto his side. _Fuck, _when did his bed get so _hard? _The bunk beds at this academy aren't exactly state of the art material but they aren't _this _bad.

"Sokka, are you awake?"

Who is _talking _right now? Why do they keep talking? "Shuddup," he grumbles, and WOW, okay, new rule: no more talking until he gets some water. Or a lozenge. Or something.

"Fuck, thank Spirits you're okay."

What are they talking about? No, better question: why are they _still _talking?

"Sokka, wake up."

"Dun'wanna." Welp. Window. Recently established rule. Out.

"Sokka, you need to wake up."

"I dun'needa do nothin'." Is that really him talking? He sounds like a squirrel toad. With a hint of nails on chalkboard.

"Sokka, _please._"

"Fine, FINE," the Water Tribe boy gripes, blinking himself awake and rubbing at his eyes. "FINE. I'm up. Ya happy?" He forces himself into a sitting position, leaning against a conveniently placed wall behind him. "Where are ya anyway?" It's so _dark._

A small flame appears from somewhere off to his right. Sokka blinks. And rubs his eyes again. Either his sleep fog is really messing with his mind right now or he has truly, actually gone and misplaced his marbles.

"Have I been talking to a little fire this whole time?"

"No, you idiot."

Sokka jumps, squinting his eyes to try to make out the figure huddled beside him in the murky shadows, the little flame his only source of light. ". . . Zuko?"

"No, it's Avatar Roku. Of course it's me!" The subtext of _you idiot _is not lost on Sokka.

The Water Tribe boy crosses his arms, sniffing daintily as he glares at what he assumes to be Zuko's head. "I clearly remember you thanking the Spirits that I was alive just a minute ago. Let's go back to that. Can we go back to that? 'Cause I'm not digging this whole insulting me between the lines thing."

"Sokka," the firebender groans, exasperated.

"Zuko," the Water Tribe boy says, mimicking the other's tone.

"Look, my hands are tied behind my back and—"

"But you can still firebend?"

"_Yes, _Sokka, obviously. But that's not the point. We need—"

"What're you talking about, not the point?!" Sokka exclaims, his throat protesting the strain he's putting on it, but he ignores it. Kinda. "If you just bring your arms around to the front, we can bust outta here! Er. Wait." Sokka rolls his head side to side then up and down, attempting to glean _something _about where the hell he is. "Um . . . where are we again?"

"We're stuck. In a cell."

"Well, that explains the terrible bedding."

"Do you . . . remember what happened?"

"Yeah, sure." Sokka shrugs carelessly, not that Zuko can see him anyway. But he plays up the indifference in his voice, not wanting to show just how shaken he was—and still is—by the incident. "Katara tried to kill you and that asshole with the queue tried to strangle me."

Zuko is silent and the flame in his hands goes out, plunging them back into blackness.

"Are you . . . okay?"

"Are _you _okay?" Sokka shoots back. "I'm not the one who just got betrayed by my own guards."

"What about your sister?"

Sokka stiffens, turning away from Zuko. "That's different," he says. "She's not herself. She's been brainwashed or something."

"And what makes you think those guards weren't?"

Sokka pauses, not having expected to hear anger in Zuko's voice. He turns his head back. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"No, no," the firebender sighs. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you."

"No, I get it," Sokka insists. "They're your people. You're their prince. I'd be angry too if they backstabbed me like that."

". . . Yeah. Thank you. Sokka."

"No prob," he says, smiling. Silence falls on them and if it weren't for the firebender's breathing, Sokka would've thought that he'd been alone this whole time and had spent the last five minutes talking to a figment of his imagination.

"We need to get out of here," Zuko says suddenly.

"Right," Sokka agrees, nodding to himself.

"And then we need to find my father."

"Er. Why?" Sokka asks slowly, cautiously. He's got a sneaking suspicion that Ozai is the one behind this whole thing. But . . . then again, why capture his own son?

"Because he needs to know. He needs to know that Long Feng can't be trusted."

"Zuko . . ." Sokka starts, unsure of how to go on.

Sure, Sokka's experience with the Fire Lord has been less than delightful. But he's got to remember that the guy is still Zuko's _dad. _So . . . So for Zuko, he'll give him the benefit of the doubt. But when—no, no, not when, _if, _c'mon—if Ozai so much as does anything to make Sokka _think _that harm will come to Zuko, he won't hesitate to stop him. By any means necessary.

"Sokka?"

The Water Tribe boy shakes himself out of his thoughts. "Yeah. Sorry. So who is this Long Feng guy?"

"Well, I _thought _he was a friend of the Fire Nation," says Zuko, a pinch of bitterness mixed in with his words.

"Right. Well. Don't worry. Once we get outta here, I'll show him what for."

"Really?" Zuko says, amused. "You and what army?"

"Pfft," Sokka scoffs. "I got you, my fists, and maybe, by some miraculous stroke of luck in the near future, my trusty boomerang. What else do I need?"

"O-Oh."

"What? Not feeling up to the challenge?" Sokka teases.

"What? No. Of course I am," Zuko replies defensively.

Sokka chuckles, a placating hand outstretched. "Calm down, I'm just teasing." His fingers brush against soft, smooth skin. And then . . . not so smooth skin. Zuko jerks back as if Sokka had just electrocuted him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"S-Sorry!" Sokka is quick to apologize, snatching his hand back. "I didn't mean t—It wasn't—I'm so sorry—I—"

"You _what?_"

"I . . ."

"Whatever," Zuko snaps warningly. "Just don't do it again."

"R-Right. Sorry. Again."

Fuck, what was he _thinking? _Why did he do that? Why did he reach out? Sokka _has _been curious about Zuko's scar, he's not going to lie to himself. But this is _not _how Sokka had imagined, or _wanted, _it to play out. Sokka mentally kicks himself, directing his eyes down. _Stupid._

There's some rustling from beside Sokka but he doesn't make much of it. Probably just Zuko scooting away from him. He can't really blame him. Even someone as dumb and clueless as Sokka can tell that the scar is a sensitive subject.

Well, with all this silence, at least now he can concentrate on figuring out a way to get them out of here. Except he _can't _concentrate. Because of the silence. The tense, horrid silence. Why must the world be so complicated?

A warm body presses up against his side and Sokka almost topples over, startled. "Uh, Z-Zuko?"

"I'm sorry."

"What? No! Don't be. Seriously. I'm in the wrong here—"

"No, it's . . . You didn't do anything wrong." A pause. "I haven't really told anyone about it. And I haven't really wanted to."

"Sure, that's understa—"

"But I will. Tell you, I mean. Someday." An awkward cough. "If you want."

Okay. Um. Rewind. No, wait, too far—fast forward.

Did Sokka really just hear that? He tilts his head to the right and smacks on the other side to try to clear out the gunk in his ears. Because he couldn't have possibly just heard what he heard.

"Are you sure?" Sokka says, doing his best to rein in the hope swelling up inside his chest. "You . . . really don't have to, y'know."

"I know. I want to."

Sokka is well aware that he's trapped inside a dark, dank holding cell and his sister is, at the moment, under the control of some bastard earthbender. And it's terrible—all of it. Yet Sokka can't quite find it in himself to be upset. Not right now, at least. Right now, he'll smile. Just smile. And as long as Zuko stays by his side, he'll get his sister back. They'll make everything right again. Or as close to right as possible.

"I can _hear _you smiling right now. Stop it."

"Nope." The smile grows.

Zuko sighs, feigning annoyance. "You're impossible."

"See, all I heard there was, 'Sokka, you're so great. You're the greatest friend a guy could ever have. So _impossibly _great, in fact, that—'"

"Shut up." Zuko bumps his knee against Sokka's. "One of us is actually trying to _think _of a way out of here, you know."

Sokka waves him off, forgetting yet again that Zuko can't see him. "Don't worry. I got us covered."

He can just imagine Zuko executing his dubious eyebrow arch right now. "Really."

"Yeah!" Sokka assures him. "I'm the plan guy!"

"I thought you were the Meat and Sarcasm Guy."

"Eh. I'm a man of many talents."

"I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that modesty isn't one of th—hey, _ow._"

"Stop talking, I'm thinking."

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you."

"What's that s'posed to mean?!"

"Nothing. Absolutely noth—_hey!_"

". . . Er, Zuko?"

"_What?_"

". . . When you're free, you're not gonna, like, roast me or anything . . . right?"

"Hit me again and we'll—_OW, what the hell, Sokka?_"

"You told me to h—"

"I can't believe I'm stuck in here with you."

"Quiet, I'm scheming."

". . . Still can't believe I'm stuck in here with you."

"Shhh!"

* * *

**A/N: Sooo . . . I referenced Avatar Roku in there. That does, in fact, mean that the Avatar exists in this world.**

**"But then is Aang still the Avatar or what?"**

**. . . Welp. I guess we're just gonna have to wait and see, eh?**

**Do you hate me yet? Don't hate me. I am but a wretched soul among a sea of—bah, whatever. Do what you want. I'll still love you, no matter what you choose to do. 'Cause you're amazing. You. Yes, YOU. (;**


	16. Chapter 16

"Sokka! Katara? You guys there?"

"C'mon, Snoozles, open the door before I get in there and shove my foot up your ass!"

Aang shoots Toph a disapproving look but she is entirely unaffected by it, going on to rap her knuckles ruthlessly and repeatedly on the door to Sokka and Katara's room.

"I don't get it," Aang mutters under his breath, head down and eyes shifting side to side in thought. He turns to Toph, searching for reassurance. "You don't think anything happened to them, do you?"

"Course not, Twinkle Toes." Aang heaves a sigh, just somewhat allayed by the earthbender's words. "Although . . ."

Aang groans, slapping his hands over his ears and stomping off. "La la la, I can't hear you, la la la, Katara's okay, la la la—"

Toph blows a strand of hair out of her face. "Oh, yeah, real mature, Twinkle Toes."

"—Sokka's just fine, la la la—"

The earthbender rolls her eyes. It's Saturday. And since mixed bending practice is over, they've got the whole day to themselves. The last thing she wants to do is worry about Sugar Queen and her idiot brother. Still, though . . .

As Toph takes off after Aang, doing her best to tune out his obnoxious singing, the thought does cross her mind that something is extremely off today. Once she can get Twinkle Toes to shut up . . . maybe they can try to take this a little more seriously. Maybe just a little. Not too much though, 'cause that's not really her style.

"La la la, I still can't hear you, la la la . . ."

* * *

"Sokka, you're being ridiculous. And an idiot."

"I am _not!_ My anger right now is totally justified!"

"You're angry that you're not tied up? Yes. Very justified."

"Hey! Leave the sarcasm to me, hothead."

"Did you just make a pun—"

"Damn it, Zuko! Not the point here!" Sokka ceases in his pacing to stalk up to Zuko and loom over him. He gestures towards the firebender's hands, now resting in his lap after he'd managed to work his legs through the loop in his arms. Sokka had wondered if he'd be able to pull something like that off, except—oh, yeah, he almost forgot—_he isn't even tied up. _"It's like I'm not even a _threat _to them!"

"Well, what about me?"

"What about you?" Sokka barks.

Zuko raises his cuffed wrists up. "They're cuffs, Sokka. Just regular metal handcuffs."

"Right . . . which is why you can still make li'l sparky sparks and campfires. So what?"

The firebender shrugs casually. "Well, if they really thought _I _was a threat, don't you think they'd have clamped my hands together to keep me from bending?"

Sokka frowns, taking this in for a minute, before coming upon the conclusion that Zuko's got a point. But still. It's insulting. In fact, it kind of reminds Sokka of his little cruise trip with Ozai. The Water Tribe boy exhales sharply, plunking down beside the firebender. Damn benders always thinking they're better than him just 'cause they can do some fancy tricks that he can't.

"Does that include me too?"

Er, fuck. This exhaustion is really getting to him if he's verbalizing his _private fucking thoughts_ now.

"No, of course not," Sokka answers sincerely. Which, well, _whoa._

"Really?" asks Zuko, sounding just as surprised as Sokka feels.

The Water Tribe boy clears his throat. "Um, well, yeah. I mean, I know that Katara's my sister and that she loves me and all, but sometimes I just get the feeling that even she thinks she's . . ." Sokka trails off, guilt preventing him from finishing the sentence. With all the shit that's going on, is it really okay for Sokka to be badmouthing his sister? Even if he doesn't mean it in a bad way? Does that even make _sense? _Pfft. Not in _his _head.

"So how's the plan coming along?" Zuko says, effectually switching subjects. Sokka would thank him, but that would ruin the point. Y'know. Of ignoring the previous topic.

Sokka scratches at his head, angling his head pensively. "Well, we've been here at least through the night. It's definitely gotta be morning by now but no one's come to check on us." Sokka tips his head back to rest it against the wall. "There's no opening—not unless you're an earthbender, which we are most noticeably not." He squeezes his eyes shut. "There's no light, unless you count your little baby flame."

"Ahem."

"I'm sorry, unless you count your little baby flame, _my lord._"

"Shut up."

Sokka grins drowsily, opening his eyes and head lolling to the right to look at Zuko. "'M tired."

"You just slept an hour ago," Zuko scoffs.

Sokka's eyelids slide shut of their own accord. "Dun'care," he murmurs, head dropping completely to rest on Zuko's shoulder. He really _is _tired. "Schemin' 's hard work. Long day. Not much we c'n do 'cept wait."

"U-Um, Sokka, I . . ."

"Errgh," Sokka moans, flapping a dismissive hand in front of the other's face. "No talkin'. Jus' wanna take a nap . . . jus' for a li'l bit . . ."

"Sokka?"

The Water Tribe boy doesn't react. Damn idiot's fallen asleep already. Zuko snuffs out the flame cupped in his hands, shrouding the two of them in darkness again. Zuko knows that Sokka's right, that the only thing they can do right now is sit around with their thumbs up their asses. But he hates it; he can't stand it. Zuko is a man of action—his hands are itching to fight, to blast away a couple of earthbenders, or just to wield his twin swords and slash and hack his way out of here.

But . . .

Zuko turns, just enough for his nose to brush against the top of Sokka's head. And he inhales; he breathes in the cool, wintery scent of Sokka's hair. Is this creepy? It probably is. Whatever. He's the Fire Nation Prince. That's validation enough. Right?

Sokka probably wouldn't be so okay with this if he were awake. And actually, Zuko's starting to feel like he's . . . violating the guy. So he should stop. _Yeah, _he tells himself as he buries his nose deeper into Sokka's soft hair, _I'll stop. Later, though. Definitely later._

The Water Tribe boy stirs in his slumber and the firebender freezes, afraid that he's been caught red-handed. He's not doing anything _wrong. _Not _really, _anyway. So why does it feel like he is?

But Sokka doesn't wake. Just babbles nonsensically about glow-in-the-dark eyes or something. And once again, Zuko speculates curiously on just what the hell it is that goes on in the guy's mind.

Zuko turns his face to settle his cheek atop Sokka's head, taking deep breaths as a means to lower his heart rate to more humanly speeds. A particularly loud snore echoes in the tight space of their little holding cell and Zuko bites back a laugh.

So maybe this whole sitting and waiting thing isn't quite so unbearable, he supposes. Maybe you just got to find the right company.

* * *

Magnificent. Very magnificent indeed.

The Fire Lord's mouth tugs down into a frown. He brings forward one hand from behind his back to trace the swirly, fiery designs of the tapestry hanging in his den, the path of his fingers leaving trails of scorch marks in their wake. Priceless, this piece—woven from the finest silk and wool the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation have to offer, it depicts the very final battle of the Hundred Year War. It's beautiful and detailed and takes up the entire wall behind Ozai's desk in the den. One of a kind, this tapestry.

With a snap of his fingers, Ozai watches it go up in flames.

A knock on the door catches the Fire Lord's attention and he extinguishes the fire, eyes roaming lazily across the charred, tattered remains of the once treasured tapestry.

"Enter," he commands without turning around.

The door creaks open, then it clicks shut. Footsteps, light and deliberate, heard only because she wants to be heard. The rustling of fabric as she lowers herself to one knee.

"Father."

"Azula," Ozai greets in turn, fingering a particularly stubborn section of cloth that has yet to burn away. "To what do I owe this pleasure, dear daughter of mine?"

"I . . . came to apologize, Father."

"Hn." Ozai drops his hand and brings it around to clasp his other wrist behind his back. Forgoing his desk and chair entirely, the Fire Lord comes to stand before his daughter. She keeps her head down. He doesn't say anything, and she takes this as her cue to begin speaking.

"I've realized the error of my actions and I come here today to humbly beg for your forgiveness, Father. It won't happen again."

Ozai looks down on the top of his daughter's head, gaze sharp but temper in check. "Do tell me, Azula, what exactly was going through your mind when you employed the help of Long Feng and the Dai Li?"

A pause. "I was thinking only of you, Father, and your wish to keep the peasant boy away from Zuko."

The Fire Lord snorts daintily, somehow managing to make even such an act seem elegant. "So you throw them in a cell together?"

Azula's head jerks up, daring to meet her father's eyes for just a moment before ducking down once more. "I specifically told Long Feng to put them in separate—"

"Enough." Azula's mouth snaps shut. "What's done is done." Ozai shuffles away to settle in his chair, folding his hands atop the wooden surface of his desk. "Come, daughter. Rise and seat yourself before me."

Azula hesitates for only a moment before she straightens and carefully but quickly settles into one of the two guest chairs set in front of Ozai's desk.

"Now, about last night, Azula." The princess visibly tenses, but she doesn't interrupt him. She knows better than to do that. Learn by example and all that. "I want you to explain to me exactly what happened, how it happened, and why it happened." Ozai pauses. Rather than begin talking, his daughter waits. _Good. _"Then I want you to prove to me that you won't make the same mistake again."

Azula is quiet for a long while. Perhaps to ensure that her father is truly done talking or perhaps to gather her thoughts. Possibly a combination of both.

"It seems that the peasant boy's sister—the waterbender—had already harbored negative feelings toward Zuko before the brainwashing. I believe that Long Feng's orders to treat Zuko as a threat only intensified these feelings."

Ozai nods to himself, leaning back slightly in his leather armchair. "Hence the incident from last night."

"Yes, Father."

"Then I suppose it was only fortunate that the guard warned us beforehand." The Fire Lord shifts his weight forward to rest lightly on his elbows. "Of course, I was unaware that he was speaking of Prince Zuko rather than the peasant boy. Enlighten me, Azula, as to why I would think that."

"I hadn't meant to keep it a secret, Father," the Fire Nation Princess wastes no time to explain. "The guard was meant to follow the waterbender and ensure that no real harm come to Zuko. He was . . . apparently unfit for the job. But he was discrete."

"Yes. Discrete to the point where he would refer to the Fire Nation Prince as 'the boy.'"

Azula's hands on her thighs curl into tight little fists. "It was disrespectful of him, Father, and I have already reprimanded him for—"

"Don't fret, my daughter. He has long since been taken care of."

Azula doesn't need to ask her father to clarify what he means. She already understands. Although she does find it a bit ridiculous. She is of the opinion that Zuko will be treated with respect by his people when he earns it. And so far, she doesn't quite believe he has. But it reflects bad on Father, and on the Fire Nation, when the people don't respect their own prince. So she bites her tongue.

"And what of your deal with Long Feng?"

"He won't be a problem, Father."

Ozai narrows his eyes, assessing. "I will trust your judgment on this, Azula. Don't disappoint me."

"Thank you, Father," she says, even risking a glance upwards to convey her gratitude through not only words, but through her eyes as well. "Would you like me to release Zuko and the boy?"

Ozai swivels his chair around to return to admiring his ruined tapestry. "Yes," he ultimately decides, "but . . ."

Azula halts in getting to her feet.

"Keep the boy locked up. His sister will have no recollection of the events that transpired last night, I presume?"

"That is correct, Father."

"Then let her go, too. Until she is needed."

"Will that not seem suspicious, Father?"

"Yes, quite. But the boy won't stay imprisoned long. Just enough so that I may have a little . . . chat with him."

"Understood, Father." Azula is halfway to the door when her father's voice stops her yet again.

"Oh, and Azula?"

"Yes, Father?" she asks the back of her father's head.

"I'd like you to bring Zuko to my room once he is released."

A small smirk tugs at the Fire Nation Princess's lips. "With pleasure, Father."

* * *

The first thing Sokka registers upon waking is that his pillow is much warmer and much softer than the non-existent one he had the first time he'd woken. The second thing is that his pillow isn't a pillow. The third thing is that he's hungry.

"Do you always pretend to keep sleeping after you wake up?"

"How d'you _do _that?" Sokka groans, turning his face into his not-pillow. Actually, it's not as soft as he'd primarily thought. It's not hard either. Just . . . firm. Yeah, that's the word. Firm.

"Um, Sokka—"

"No, seriously," Sokka cuts in, one hand coming up to squeeze his not-pillow. "Is it some mind-reading bender thing? 'Cause s'mtimes, I get the feelin' that 'Tara c'n read m'mind too. 'N 's real creepy," he rambles, as he is prone to do when groggy with sleep.

"Sokka," Zuko chokes out.

"Though m'be she c'n do that 'cause she's m'sister. Does yer sis do that, Zuko? Read yer mind and scare the crap outta ya?" Sokka gives his not-pillow another exploratory squeeze. "Mmm. Where'd y'find this pillow thing?"

"Attached to my body."

Sokka frowns. Well, that doesn't sound right. In fact, it sounds kinda gross. Like a mole. Or an alien appendage. "What're y'talkin' 'bout?"

"Maybe you'd understand if you'd open your eyes and stop groping my thigh."

Groping his thigh? What in the—

"OH!" Sokka bolts upright, mind clearing faster than it ever has before upon just waking. "That's—I wasn't—I swear to Spirits that I wasn't trying to cop a feel or anyth—"

"It's _fine,_ Sokka," the firebender laughs. "Seriously," he assures the Water Tribe boy, still laughing.

For once, Sokka is thankful for the darkness. Damned stupid cheeks keep _blushing. _Like a—a—a _girl _or something. He crosses his arms, sitting back on his ass, legs sprawled in front of him and pout on his face.

"Shut up."

Zuko's laughs have at least died down somewhat. Now, they're more of the restrained chuckle-snort caliber rather than the wheezy retarded seal caliber.

But he's still laughing. So Sokka decides that a tickle tackle is in order. Because he still remembers for a fact that this here Fire Nation Prince is quite _sensitive _in certain spots_._

The firebender's giggling—because that's exactly what he's doing—is disrupted by a shrill shriek. Now _Sokka's _the one laughing—the kind of laughing where you can't even hear it because it's nothing but wheezing and your chest hurts from the lack of breathing.

"Sokka!" Zuko squeaks, scrabbling in the darkness to escape the onslaught of the Water Tribe boy's Evil Fingers. But they pursue him relentlessly, attacking him seemingly from everywhere and he collapses, helpless, to the ground. His cuffed hands only act as a further disadvantage.

Sokka pokes at the firebender's sides, avoiding Zuko's kicking legs as he attempts to roll away from the other boy. Fuck, but Zuko's laughter is addictive. This is definitely something Sokka knows he will never be able to give up. And he may or may not be using this tickle attack as an opportunity to grope Zuko's stupidly amazing abs. _Spirits, _these abs.

Both Sokka and Zuko are so loud that the former almost doesn't hear the rumble of moving rock behind him. But the latter picks up on it like a cat deer picks up on predator movements. It's like one second, Sokka's got a shrieking, giggling Zuko under his hands and the next he's being pushed away, trying to adjust his vision to the sudden burst of light flooding in.

As he blinks away the spots, Sokka searches the cell to find Zuko practically plastered against the wall clear across the other side of the room. Spirits, the hell is that about?

A Fire Nation guard comes striding in, two earthbenders flanking him.

"Prince Zuko," the firebender sentry says, bowing with his hands forming the traditional Fire Nation symbol. "My fellow guards and I apologize profusely for the crude treatment you have received while imprisoned." Zuko uses the wall behind him as leverage to push himself forward, and Sokka can almost _see _the mask sliding into place as he takes on the persona of Prince Zuko. "His Highness, the Fire Lord, has ordered your release and requested your presence in his chambers."

". . . My father knew of this? Knew of my imprisonment?"

Shit. Sokka looks worriedly to Zuko, because maybe the guy can hide his emotions from these numbskulls. Maybe these morons can't see past the front he puts up. But Sokka can hear the hurt and betrayal in Zuko's voice as clear as day. The silence drags on, Zuko still absorbing this new—though, at least to Sokka, highly unsurprising—information and the guard unsure of whether or not it's his place to answer such a query.

"Hey!" Sokka exclaims, taking pity on the both of them. He climbs to his feet and dusts himself off. "Great. Awesome. Been wondering when the hell you guys were gonna get here. But how 'bout some food? Food sounds nice, doesn't it? Sounds fantastic, even."

The guard straightens, his face taking on an expression of disbelief and, dare Sokka think it, _disgust. _"The Fire Lord has not yet ordered _your _release, peasant."

_Well, _then. Sokka glowers at the man. _See if I ever try to save your sorry ass from an awkward situation ever again._

"What are you talking about?" says Zuko before Sokka can retort.

The guard casts his eyes down as he addresses the prince. "The peasant boy is to remain in here for the time being, my lord."

"I am not a _peasant. _I will have you assclowns know that I am next in line for chiefdom," Sokka informs the guard, puffing his chest out.

The guard makes to move towards the Water Tribe boy and Sokka braces himself for a fight. However, Zuko steps in between the two, blocking Sokka's vision of Sergeant Douchenozzle.

"I'm not leaving without my friend."

"But—But sire—"

Sokka observes with thinly veiled satisfaction at the scene before him, just about preening as the Fire Nation guard flounders for a response.

"Oh, this is pathetic."

The guard spins around to face the owner of the voice, dropping yet again to another bow. "Princess Azula."

"Get out," is all she says.

"But, my lady, I was sent here to—"

"I know what you were sent here for," she injects snappishly. "But you obviously aren't competent enough for the task," she says, coldly eyeing the guard as she ambles on into the holding cell.

Oh, great. Just what Sokka needs: Zuko's creepy sister.

"What are you doing here, Azula?" One side of Zuko's mouth curls up in discernible disdain as the Fire Nation sentry scurries out of the cell. Sokka wonders if maybe the guy is actually just running for his life because he knows something that Sokka doesn't.

The girl smiles at her brother, baring a row of menacing pearly white teeth. Maybe 'girl' isn't exactly the term Sokka would use to describe her. 'Demon' could work. Possibly 'Sokka killer, the killer of all the Sokkas in the world.' Well, shit. Sokka happens to fit inside that category.

"I'm here to get you out of this dirthole, Zuzu. Is this any way to treat your savior?"

"Savior?" Zuko spits out. "For all I know, _you're _the one who put me in here."

"Oh, now I'm hurt," Azula says, pouting and grabbing at her chest.

Sokka knows better than to interfere in this little display of sibling rivalry, doing his best to shrink in on himself and meld into the rock wall.

"Come now, Zuzu. Don't you want to see Father?"

This is where the firebender falters. "I—Of course I do, but—"

"Father has ordered his imprisonment. Would you really go against Father's orders? For . . . For that _peasant filth?_"

Sokka snorts to himself, already prepping his tongue for the moment when he'll stick it out and scream "HA! Zuko's on my side, so SUCK IT!" Except that moment never comes.

"No."

Sokka's legs feel like they're on the verge of buckling underneath him.

"No _what, _Zuzu?"

". . . I'll go with you, Azula. Isn't that enough?"

"_No. _I want to hear you say it, Zuzu. I want to hear you say that this peasant filth isn't worth your time or your kindness."

"Azula—"

"Father's waiting, Zuko. You know how he doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"I . . ."

Sokka's heart constricts.

"He's . . . He's peasant filth. And I—"

"Say it to _him, _Zuko. I want you to say it to _him._"

_Don't, _Sokka pleads silently when Zuko turns to him. _Don't play her games, don't let her push you around like this. I know you're better than this._

Well, it only makes sense that Sokka's gut would be wrong about something _sometime, _doesn't it?

"You're filth." Fuck. The air is knocked right out of Sokka's lungs and he doesn't—he can't remember how to get it back. "You're peasant filth and—and you're not worth my time. Or my kindness."

Azula beams at her brother. "I'm so proud of you, Zuzu."

Sokka turns away from the two firebenders, vision swimming. Although that may be due to the tears threatening to spill over. Great, now he's about to cry. He can feel Zuko's eyes on him as he listens to the sound of retreating footsteps, as the opening to the cell is gradually resealed. Let him stare. It won't change what he said.

It's dark again, and it's quiet. So, so quiet. But then Sokka begins laughing. It's bitter. It's strained. Unnatural, artificial, deprecating. But it keeps him company in the deafening silence, unwinds him in the blinding blackness.

_I really am an idiot._

Never has Sokka laughed quite so hard as he does now.

* * *

**A/N: Sooo . . . I meant to post this two days ago.**

**But when I wrote this two days ago, I was workin' off of two hours of sleep. And halfway through, I started nodding off (so, basically, around the same time that Sokka fell asleep. Hence why he's so sleepy. 'Cause I was).**

**Then everything after that made absolutely NO SENSE whatsoever. In fact, I think there was some smut thrown in there. And that's a no-no. At least for now. (; So I spent all of yesterday rewriting the whole goddamn chapter and I _still _think it's . . . eh.**

**But whatever. I'm already in the middle of the next chapter! :D**

**Oh, and yeah, you totally caught me. I was just rewatching _Merlin _and decided to steal a line from the show. Um.**


	17. Chapter 17

_"It was for your protection, Zuko."_

Tch. Zuko storms into his unnecessarily large room, yanking open his dresser and snatching up whatever it is that his hands come into contact with first. The whole time, he does his best to ignore Azula leaning casually against the door that connects their two rooms.

"What's the matter, Zuzu? You seem angry."

Zuko knows that she's only baiting him. He _knows _this. Yet he falls for it every time.

He whirls around, brandishing a fresh pair of boxers and the scratchy school uniform pants. "You threw me in a fucking _dungeon._"

"Now that's exaggerating it a bit, don't you think?" his sister says, crossing her arms. "I only had your best interests in mind, brother."

"_My best interests?_" he growls. "Oh, this'll be good."

Azula knits her brow, and for a moment—just like so many moments before—Zuko almost thinks that she is genuinely hurt by his words, that she sincerely cares for him. But again, just like so many moments before, it's fleeting and immediately crushed when he remembers all the things she's done, the way she's treated him, the way she's treated so many others.

_Azula always lies._

"You don't understand, Zuko. The only way to keep you safe from that waterbender was to lock you up." She pushes away from the doorjamb to approach her brother. "She was going to _kill you, _Zuko, you saw her!"

"So your solution is to bound and imprison me?" he retorts, taking an involuntary step back as his sister nears him.

"Zuko." Azula plants her hands on her brother's shoulders, eyes imploring and indescribable, almost foreign on her face. Zuko is more than distrustful of the unmitigated attitude change from earlier this morning. "She and her brother are _in on it, _Zuko."

The prince pulls away from his sister, disconcerted and perturbed. "In on _what, _Azula? What are you _talking _about?"

The princess huffs irritably, as if she's having to explain something for the umpteenth time to a small child, or a particularly dumb person. "They were hired to assassinate you, Zuko." She steps into her brother's personal space once more, jabbing a finger at his sternum. "You're next in line for the throne, brother. And you and I both know that ever since the Hundred Year War people have been wary of the Fire Nation."

Zuko scoffs, slapping his sister's hand away. "Bullshit." He pointedly goes back to rummaging through his wardrobe for a change of clothes.

"Your life is at danger here, Zuko. This is a grave matter and it'd do well for you to treat it as such."

"Right," he says ironically, frowning when he can't find any of his shirts.

Azula grabs his elbow suddenly, forcing him back around to face her. "That boy that you've been getting so buddy-buddy with lately isn't who he appears to be, Zuko." Her eyes flash, her grip tightens. "He is a _killer._"

"Sokka?" Zuko quirks an eyebrow, undaunted. "Kill me?" No offense to Sokka but he's sort of . . . an idiot.

_You're filth._

Zuko cringes internally. Sokka knows he didn't mean any of that. Of course Sokka knows that. Sokka would understand. Sokka would understand because—because he's _Sokka. _Zuko had to say those things. Father was waiting and Father can't be kept waiting. Azula wasn't going to let him go if he didn't say—Sokka has to understand.

"Don't you get it, Zuko? It's _all an act._" Azula finally steps back but her demeanor isn't any less intense. "Don't you think it suspicious at all that he just showed up here out of the blue? He can't even _bend, _Zuko. How else would he get into this school if not for somebody higher up, somebody who could pull a few strings, somebody with a grudge against the Fire Nation?"

"You're wrong," Zuko denies, standing strong despite his utter fatigue and his growing hunger.

"Why must you be so _stubborn?_" Azula groans. "I am trying to _help _you, Zuko!"

"What is he doing with Father then?" Zuko counters, fighting off the nigglet of doubt in the back of his mind. He feels sick and guilty for even considering Azula's words to be anything but false."I've seen him in Father's room, asking for him, meeting with him. Don't tell me Father is out to kill me too."

"You underestimate Father, Zuko." Azula smirks. "You already know the saying. Keep your friends close . . ."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, don't I?"

"In case you aren't aware, Azula," now it's Zuko who steps forward, "our father is the _Fire Lord. _What could Father and Sokka possibly have in common?"

"Well, in case _you _aren't aware, dear brother, this 'Sokka' of yours is next up to become chief of his sorry little tribe." The two siblings are now nose-to-nose and fuming. "If you haven't learned anything from Father over the years, then you should at least know that it is never too early to begin networking and forming connections."

"Why not just assassinate the Fire Lord himself?" Zuko blurts out, completely mindful of the fact that he is grasping at straws now. Why does everything Azula say have to make so much _sense? _"Or you, for that matter?"

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you, dear brother?" Azula pushes him with one hand and he stumbles back, catching himself only because of the marvelous placement of his dresser. "You'd like mean ol' Daddy gone and your evil, malicious little sister out of the picture. Wouldn't you?"

Zuko recomposes himself, facing Azula head-on. "That is _not _what I meant and you know it."

"I really _don't, _dear brother. Father and I do so much for you, and _this _is how you repay us? By wishing our deaths and siding with a complete stranger?"

Azula always lies. Azula always lies. Azula always lies.

Doesn't she?

_Mom . . ._

"Get out."

Azula is silent, eyes searching her brother's scarred face.

"I said _get out!_" His hands singe the clothing garments in his grasp and wisps of smoke curl up from his nostrils.

"Fine," Azula seethes, turning on her heel. "But don't say I didn't warn you." Just as she's reaching the door to her room and just as Zuko is contemplating skipping his planned shower and just going out to the training courtyard to _burn _something, Azula stops. Her voice softens. "I just don't want anything to happen to you, Zuko."

Azula always lies.

Zuko falls to his knees, thinking how he'd give virtually anything to just have Uncle here with him right now, brewing a pot of tea.

* * *

"Are you sure about this, Toph?"

"Where's your sense of adventure, Twinkle Toes?"

"I have a sense of adventure!"

"Then shut up. We're doing this."

Aang mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "when did you become the bossy one?"

"What was that?"

"Oh, nothing," the airbender responds innocently. He pokes his head around the corner of the hallway.

"I already _told _you, there's nobody there," Toph says, annoyed.

Aang hugs the wall, beginning to inch his way along.

"There's _nobody_—"

"Shhh!" Aang shoots Toph a sharp look, finger on his lips. The earthbender rolls her eyes but plays along anyway. At the next bend in the hallway, the airbender halts, awaiting Toph to give the green light.

"Wait." She places a hand on his elbow. "Two guards."

Aang purses his lips. "What should we do?"

"Distract them."

"Distract them? How—GAH!" Before Aang can finish the question he's being pushed out into the hallway. He looks to Toph, glowering, but she just urges him on with silent shoo-shoo motions.

The airbender shuffles up to the two men, hands behind his back and the most innocuous smile he can summon appearing on his face. "Hehe, hi," he chuckles, waving cordially at the sentry men. "Nice weather outside, huh?" he begins conversationally.

The two men just exchange is-this-kid-for-real looks.

"I love the sun. But I bet since you guys are firebenders you like the sun too. Monk Gyatso—he's my guardian—always tells me that—"

"Scram, kid," the man on the left says.

"Yeah, go bother someone else."

"We don't have time to talk to some little kid."

"Yeah," the other guy chimes in, "and with all that air in your lungs, you're probably gonna be talkin' all day." The man sniggers, apparently thinking himself quite clever.

Aang sulks, injured. But then the stone behind the guards' heads is shooting out, knocking them both unconscious. The two men fall forward, eyes rolling into the back of their heads.

"Well, that was easy," Toph says, appearing from around the corner and dusting her hands. "You'd think the Fire Lord would have better security than these bozos."

Aang shrugs. "Yeah, I guess."

Toph, poised and ready to knock down the Fire Lord's doors, pauses. "Somethin' got you down, Twinkle Toes?"

The airbender shakes his head. "Nah, it's fine."

Toph purses her lips. "Hey, look," she says, slinging an arm around the other's shoulders, "don't let 'em get to you, alright? They're just a couple o' dickbags anyway."

Aang smiles then. "Yeah." He's got all these great friends—what does he care about what those two bullies think of him? "Thanks, Toph."

"No prob, Twinkle Toes. Now," she cracks her knuckles, "you may wanna stand back." But before Toph can even get into position, the doors are being opened and out walks—

"Katara?" the two benders utter in unison.

"Um, hey, guys," says the waterbender, startled by the sight before her. "What're you guys doing here?"

"Looking for you!" Toph bellows, arms in the air.

"Where've you been, Katara?" Aang asks, puzzled.

The waterbender rolls her eyes. "You know how Sokka is, he can't stay focused on anything." Toph cranes her neck to the side, hoping for a peek inside, but the doors are already drawing shut. "He thought it'd be better if I was in there with him."

Toph's eyes narrow skeptically. "In the Fire Lord's room? For what?"

"Yeah," says Aang, stepping up beside the earthbender, "I thought you hated those guys."

Katara sighs, hands going to her hips. "Yeah, it's true that I don't like these people. But Sokka _is _going to take over as chief one day in our tribe so," she inhales sharply, as if saying the next words will pain her and she needs to take a moment to ready herself, "if the Fire Nation is willing to put aside our differences and aid our economy, who am I to object to that?"

"So where's Sokka?" says Aang.

"He's still inside, just finishing up some final details with the Fire Lord."

"Really?" Toph says, folding her arms across her chest. "Is that all?"

Katara frowns, confused. "Well, yeah. What else is there?"

"Well," Aang starts, "after Sokka told us he was gonna go meet Zuko last night during dinner, you kinda ran off in a real hurry and you looked . . . er—"

"You looked about ready to murder somebody," Toph finishes for him.

"Yeah. What she said."

Katara strikes a defensive pose, expression souring. "Look, I just don't like my brother hanging out with that jerk, alright? You were there that day! You heard the things he said!"

"I think everybody heard you two with the way you were screaming," says Toph, referring to that rather infamous fight all those years ago that took place between Sugar Queen and the Phoenix Prince, long before she or Aang had met the waterbender.

"So, what, are you and Snoozles okay again?"

"Yeah." Katara smiles softly. "Yeah, we are."

"You were gone for a really long time, Katara." Aang doesn't like this. It all just sounds so . . . fishy. And fabricated (that's a new word he just learned the other day). Toph seems to be on the same wavelength as him. Yet she hasn't said anything about whether or not Katara's lying so he's really not sure what to think at this point.

"Yeah, I know," Katara replies, reaching out to squeeze the airbender's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I should have said something. But it's hard work, these meetings. I guess I just lost track of time."

Surprisingly, the one who seems most readily to accept Katara's explanation is Toph. "Okay."

Aang gapes at her.

Katara beams at her.

"Great," says the waterbender with a clap of her hands. Then something catches her attention in the corner of her eye. "What the—" Her gaze alternates between looking at the two unconscious guards and glaring at her two friends. Then they flicker back and forth between those two friends. Then, "What did you do, Toph?"

"What? Why do you just assume that every time there are dead bodies around, _I'm _the culprit?!"

"They're DEAD?!"

"Hehe, Toph's just kidding, Katara!" Aang grins greatly, waving his hands in a pacifying manner.

"What are you doing knocking out _Fire Nation _guards?!"

"Well, we thought you were in trouble," Aang attempts to explain. "We'll apologize, don't worry."

"Pfft. Speak for yourself, Twinkle Toes. These bastards were askin' for it with the way they were talkin' to you."

"That doesn't—" Katara cuts herself off, turning to Aang. "Did they do something to you?"

"N-No, not really," Aang tells her, blushing under her sudden attention. "It's really silly, they just said some mean stuff—it wasn't even that mean—oof!" Um. Wow.

"Hey, don't listen to them, alright, Aang?" Katara says, arms wrapped around the airbender.

So _this _is what bliss feels like.

"Ahem. _Ahem. _AHEM."

"Do you need a cough drop or something, Toph?" Katara snaps.

"Look, as sweet and affectionate as this little moment is, I gotta say, Sugar Queen, you kinda . . . smell."

"What?" Katara jumps back from Aang, alarmed. Aang ducks his head to conceal his disappointment. "Do I really?"

"Ask Twinkle Toes; you practically shoved his face into your armpits."

"Toph!" Katara squeaks. But she glances questioningly at Aang anyway. "Do I really?"

"Er, well . . ."

"Oh, my SPIRITS." Katara covers her face in her hands. "I am so sorry, Aang. I'm just—I think I'll just go take a shower before I poison everyone with my stink."

"Er, at least you're not as bad as Sokka!" Aang consoles. Or tries to.

"UGGGH."

So maybe that made it worse.

"Just get washed, Madame Fussy Britches. And meet us in the courtyard."

"Yeah, whatever. I'm totally gonna kick your butt after this, Toph."

"In your dreams, Sweetness!" the earthbender calls out to Katara's retreating back.

When the waterbender is out of earshot, Aang whips around to confront Toph. "Don't tell me you didn't find that just a _little_—"

"Calm down before you make a mess, Twinkle Toes. I know there's somethin' funky goin' on."

". . . But . . . ?" Aang presses, hands waving in circular motions.

". . . But she wasn't lying."

". . . Not even a little bit?"

"Not even a little bit."

Aang looks back in the direction Katara had left. "What do we do now?"

"Now? We just wait."

"Ugh, I _hate _waiting."

"Don't we all, Twinkle Toes? Don't we all?"

* * *

"Thirty-two bottles of pop on the wall, thirty-two bottles of pop. You take one down, pass it around, thirty-one bot—"

The ground shakes underneath Sokka and a resounding rumble fills the small space. He ceases singing but he doesn't sit up.

Silence. Then footsteps. Then more silence. Then, "Up, boy."

"I'm not your lapdog," Sokka mutters, mind on autopilot at the moment.

"I won't repeat myself."

"Good. Then that means I won't have to either."

An aggravated sigh. "The Spirit World awaits you, boy. We don't have time to _dilly-dally._"

"Are we still _on _that?" Sokka grouses, throwing an arm over his eyes.

"Yes, we are still '_on that.' _Until you can bring the Progenitor's spirit back into this world, we will continue to be 'on that.'"

Sokka lets his arm flop back down to the ground and goggles up at the upside down Fire Lord. "Wait, bring his—you mean his spirit is still stuck in the Spirit World?"

"Have you been paying no attention whatsoever to what I've been saying, boy, or are you truly just that _stupid?_" Ozai hisses.

"Which answer won't result in my untimely, smoky death?"

Silence. Then, "Guards!" Fire Lord Asshole barks. "Get him cleaned up and bring him to my room."

Y'know, Sokka was just wishing for a nice, long bath.

When an earthbender and a firebender—_ooh, diversity_—appear to escort him away, Sokka doesn't even bother fighting. There's really no reason to. What would he do once he got away? Where would he go? This school is stuck on a giant island in the middle of the ocean. Sokka's a great swimmer but he's become just somewhat attached to his limbs. He's not sure he wants them to be torn off and turned into tiger shark chow.

The lighting is more subdued now than it was the previous time the cell was opened—

_You're filth._

—which is a damn relief. Sokka stumbles between the two men, dragged along by his armpits. Spirits, is this uncomfortable. Torches line the long hallway. It doesn't seem very special in any way. It's pretty much exactly how Sokka has always imagined dungeons to look like. However, a dungeon underneath a school?

That's . . . a bit more unorthodox.

It's a long straight hallway—_finally, _somewhere that even _he _can't get lost—er, not that he plans on spending much time down here. Never again would be preferable. Sokka twists his head around to gaze behind him. _Wonder what's over there . . . _A metal door lies at the other end of the hall, the one they're heading towards, then there are steps—the fancy, windy, spiraling kind. And more steps. And even _more _steps.

Spirits, how far underground _is _this place?

Another metal door, _more steps. _What's the point of _this _door if it just leads to more stairs?!

Now Sokka's kind of thankful for the men towing him along. Fuck, he really needs to work out more or something. Maybe he should ask Ozai if he can use these stairs as part of his workout routine.

When the trio comes across yet _another _door, Sokka is seriously considering requesting a piggyback ride, dignity be damned. But it's opened to reveal a ladder.

"Really?" the Water Tribe boy finds himself saying as the earthbender begins pulling himself up the rusty rungs. "A whole room just for a ladder?"

The firebender gives him a hard shove to the back. "Shut up and climb."

"Yes, siree, bob," Sokka says cheekily, giving a sloppy salute. At the top lies a trapdoor that leads into— "The teacher's lounge? Who puts a super-secret dungeon door in the _teacher's lounge?_"

"Move before I flame your ass!"

That sentence definitely has a double meaning hidden inside it somewhere. But Sokka does as he's told, hauling himself up and out. He splays himself on the ground, staring up at the ceiling. And instantly regrets it. Damn fluorescent lights.

_You're filth._

Stop thinking, don't think, if you don't think, it won't hurt, if you don't think, it won't hurt, if—

"Get up."

Sokka rolls to his feet, stomach growling. Fuck. He looks longingly to the fridge set in the corner of the room. _Food . . ._

"Get movin', peasant."

"Would you _stop _with the shoving?"

This has got to be cruel and unusual punishment. These assholes can do whatever the fuck they want to him—insult him, shove him around, whatever. But withholding food? _Withholding food? _That is taking it _too _far.

Sokka sighs, watching the earthbender smooth the rug covering the trapdoor back into place (how cliché). Yeah, they're starving him to death. What's he gonna do about it? _Nothin.' _Absolutely _nothin'._

The only time Sokka can ever remember feeling so helpless was when Mom . . .

_She did what she had to and I did what _I _had to._

_You're filth. You're peasant filth and_—

"Get in, get washed, get out. Understood?"

Sokka doesn't really have the energy to come up with some snarky remark. The best he can conjure up is an affirmative grunt. The showers are empty and one peek at the clock places the time to be somewhere around mid-noon. Makes sense that it's deserted in here. It's Saturday, isn't it? At least Sokka didn't have to muscle through watching Toph and Katara toss rocks and whip water at each other.

_I'm doing this for you, Sokka._

As he walks towards the first vacant stall, he begins stripping, shedding off his clothes and just leaving them where they lay. Fuck if he cares right now. Stepping under the stream of water, he relishes the calming, cooling effect it has on him. It's no hot bath but he's not complaining.

_You're filth._

Sokka scrubs harder at his grimy skin. Spirits, that cell must've been damn something if it makes him feel _this _dirty. He's once gone two weeks without bathing, and even then he didn't feel as dirty as he does now.

_You're peasant filth._

Sokka's skin is already red with the force of his scrubbing. But it's not enough, why isn't it enough? Fuck, he just—he just feels so _dirty _and _wrong _and _pathetic _and _stupid _and—

_You're filth._

Drops of water trail down Sokka's cheeks.

* * *

It's hot, just like it always is. It's stifling, just like it always is. He's tired and hungry, just like he always is.

But Sokka doesn't complain. He doesn't say anything at all.

"Just breathe. Don't think it, feel it. Breathe. Feel."

Ozai's talking, just like he always is. It's the same things over and over again, just worded differently, ordered differently. It's supposed to be soothing or something. And it . . . it kind of is. Which absolutely horrifies Sokka.

"Breathe and feel. Let it come to you, don't reach for it. Inhale, exhale."

Sokka wonders if Fire Lord Asshole's voice is only so nice because of all this stress he's been under. Somewhere along the line, Sokka wonders if it'd be okay for him to take a little nap. Further down, Sokka wonders when Ozai's voice . . . stopped being Ozai's voice.

"Do you feel it, child? Do you feel the death and life intermingled within?"

"Yes," Sokka breathes.

"Do you want to _see _it? See the life and death and love and hate and everything in between?"

"_Yes._"

"Then open your eyes, child. Open your eyes, and you shall _see._"

"Open my eyes . . . and I shall see."

Sokka opens his eyes.


	18. Chapter 18

"Well, this is . . . different."

"_Different?_"

Sokka frowns, still occupied with taking in his very first look of the Spirit World. And damn, there is a _lot _to take in. "Whataya want me to say?"

"This is the _Spirit World. _Such trivial descriptions are—"

"GWAH!"

"WHAT?!"

"Holy _fuck, _man!" Sokka hunches over, hands on knees as he catches his breath. "You didn't think to warn me beforehand that you're a _dragon?_"

The giant cloud of black mist beside Sokka dissipates only to reappear on his other side. "You were startled because I am a _dragon?_" it asks, mouth unmoving and large red eyes unnerving.

"No, you're right, I'm sorry. Big teeth, glowing red eyes, all-around menacing aura—what's there to be scared of?" Pause. "And why are you just a head?"

"Impertinent little _brat._ Do you _know _who I am?"

"You're the Projector or something, right?"

"The _Progenitor. _I can't believe, of all the people in the world, _this _boy was born in the waters of—"

The spirit continues talking but Sokka is already spacing out, positively awed by the sight before him.

Beautiful is too inadequate of a word to describe this place. But, in Sokka's opinion, there is no adequate word to describe what he's seeing. Sokka stands on a flat, round stone set in the center of a sparkling pond. He crouches down to comb his fingers through the water and—_fuck, _that feels weirdly awesome.

Er, shit. Should he be cursing in the Spirit World? Fuck, he just did it. Damn it, he did it _again! _DAMN IT. HE LITERALLY JUST—

WHATEVER.

Trees sway in a non-existent breeze, their leaves larger than Sokka's head and as green as the grass on the other side. He can hear chirping and tweeting and rustling and _life, _but he can't see where the noises are coming from. It's more like . . . like it's all around him and inside him and yet nowhere near him. Sokka stands and begins twirling slowly, already so eager to go and discover what lies beyond the misty fog surrounding the area. However, his brain and his eyeballs refuse to move on without first absorbing in every miniscule detail of this place. Not that Sokka's complaining. The shadows cast by the trees, the brightness of everything despite the distinct lack of a sun, the feeling of something _bigger _than him, bigger than the world he lives in—it's all so . . . breathtaking.

This Projector guy wants to leave all _this?_ This place is like an ineffable paradise!

Sokka squints, shading his eyes with a hand and leaning forward. Is that—It's hard to see past the fog but—_That is totally a baboon! Fuck, I wanna go see_—

_SPLASH._

Sokka sits up in the shallow pond, cursing and shaking the water out of his hair. Of course he'd go and lose his balance on a perfectly sturdy, even-surfaced rock.

"Are you quite done here?"

"_Done?_" Sokka scoffs, getting to his feet and stepping out of the water onto land. Spirits, even the ground here feels springier. He bounces on the balls of his feet. "This place is amazing!"

"Yes. I know," the dragon spirit says, almost contemptuously.

Sokka begins running towards the nearest tree—these things have got to stand at least a good hundred meters tall—and is just about to try his hand at tree-climbing for the very first time. Until he looks behind him.

"Holy _shit,_" he whispers, eyes shining. He takes an experimental step to the right and—fuck, plants are sprouting up from the ground with _every step he takes. _"This is _awesome!_" Sokka bends down, taking the leaf of a tiny blue flower in between his fingers and rubbing it. So soft . . .

"You are not here to _play _with the dirt and weeds, boy. You have a—"

Whatever. Sokka stands up, returning to the most current mission at hand: teaching himself how to climb a tree. He ponders for a moment, easily ignoring the spirit's babbling (he's starting to notice a pattern here). Maybe he should just go for it; something like this shouldn't require so much thinking. But then, up ahead, the curtain of fog parts, revealing a patch of bamboo plants and a . . . panda.

Screw the baboon, there's a _panda _over there.

As Sokka scurries on over to the huge, black-and-white furball, the thought does strike his mind that he's acting like a kid in a candy store. Well, actually, he always acts like a kid in a candy store when he's inside a candy store—c'mon, it's a _candy store. _How can a person _not _get excited?

But this isn't candy. This is a panda.

Sokka skids to a stop a short distance from the animal. That is true, it _is_ a panda. It's a _panda. _Do pandas eat people? No, they eat bamboo, duh. Right?

. . .

Ah, fuck it. He's in the fucking _Spirit World. _And he is not leaving until he can truthfully say that he got to pet a spirit panda.

"Hey there, big guy!" Sokka jogs up to the large panda bear, waving wildly. The bear just stares at him. "Not much of a talker, huh?" He scratches at his head for a moment. Well, here goes nothing.

The Water Tribe boy stretches out a tentative hand, freezing when the animal huffs. It steps forward, nose twitching. Sokka remains absolutely still as it sniffs his hand. Then it licks it. Sokka's face breaks out into a smile.

"I'm Sokka. What's your name?" he asks as he begins stroking the panda's snout and it sits back on its haunches, nuzzling the boy's palm. "Well, aren't you a friendly li'l guy?" Sokka chuckles softly. The panda snorts.

Why is everything in the Spirit World so _soft?_

The Water Tribe boy is just emphatically enjoying himself when, without warning, the panda begins growling and rises onto its hind legs. Sokka scrambles back, palms held up. "W-Whoa there, big guy. Let's, uh, let's not do anything rash here. It's me! Your buddy! It's Sokka!"

Maybe a hand-lick doesn't really mean anything. In fact, maybe it's some ploy to get innocent passersby like him to let their guard down so that, when they least expect it, _CHOMP. _Maybe spirit pandas have acquired a taste for human spirit flesh. Is that even _possible?_

But then there's a reciprocating snarl from behind Sokka and he turns to find the dragon head hovering there. So even the other spirits here don't like this guy. Wonder what they'd do to Sokka when they find out that he's actually helping him get out of here.

Shit.

Is he . . . He's really doing this, isn't he? He's actually going to bring this guy back into the other world. Sokka grabs his head, mind racing. What the _fuck _is he doing? He hasn't—It's not like when Ozai told him all this, he didn't _understand _the implications of what he's been ordered to do. It just—It didn't seem _real. _Because it was all so—so _impossible _and _unbelievable._

Until now. Because now . . . now he's _here. _He's actually here, in the Spirit World. And he's looking right at the very spirit that he's supposed to be smuggling out of it.

He can't do it.

There's another growl from the panda. Except it sounds . . . much louder. Sokka spasmodically swings his head around to look at the panda. Except it isn't a panda anymore. It's . . . big, though. Really big. Its teeth are really big too. Everything about it is pretty big, actually. It still stuck with the black-and-white color scheme though. That hasn't changed. Of course, this does absolutely diddly-squat to help assuage Sokka's nerves.

Okay. So Sokka's going to have to worry about his personal little crisis some other time. Because the dragon spirit is transforming now too—_there's _the rest of its body—and this is starting to look a lot like a spiritual showdown about to go down.

"Sooo . . . I'm just gonna," Sokka jerks a thumb back towards the direction he'd come from, "go. Now. Nice meeting you, Mr. Panda. Projector."

"It is _Progenitor! _And you are _not _to leave until I am—"

However, Sokka is already running off, back towards the pond. How does he get out of here? He needs to get out of here. Roars resonate in his ears and he trips at the damned deafening volume of the noise, only just catching himself. Okay, now he _really _needs to get out of here. Before those two blow up the Spirit World or something.

Is that a thing? Can that even happen? Fuck if he knows. Or cares. He just wants to _get out._

How does he get out? Why didn't Ozai actually tell him anything of _importance? _Does this mean Sokka actually has to wait for the evil dragon spirit to help him?

No. Sokka grits his teeth. _No. _He'll get out of here. _Without _that thing's help. Maybe all he needs to do is get back to where he originally was and just—just meditate. Or something. Anything is better than nothing.

Except the pond isn't there anymore. In fact, there aren't any trees here either. It's all smoky and barren. _Nothing _here looks familiar, _nothing _looks like the little clearing he'd first appeared in. Fuck. Maybe he made a wrong turn or something? That sounds stupid even inside Sokka's head. He whirls around, hoping to at least get back to the panda-except-not-really-a-panda spirit. It looked pretty nice before it morphed into that giant nightmare. But there's no sign of it. Or the Projector. And his feet don't leave behind pretty little flowers anymore.

A hissing sound emanates from underneath Sokka and the ground begins quaking. He has the sense of mind to jump back just in the nick of time as flames explode out of a hole in the ground. _Fire geysers? _Why do these things even _exist?!_

Sokka yelps as yet another one erupts to his right. He's not sure if they can burn him, but the heat feels exceptionally real. So he's going to say that yes. Yes, these things can most definitely make a barbecue out of him.

Can't he go back to the place with the soft plants and the soft animals? That seemed so much more pleasant.

There's still so much _fog. _Maybe if he walks through it he'll end up in another place. Okay, just—just take it slow. Baby steps, Sokka. Baby steps. But then the fog is moving—moving and thickening as it wraps itself around him. Sokka halts in his tracks immediately. Fuck, what does he do now? He can barely see his hands, let alone the blazing Geysers of Doom.

But he doesn't need to. Because just as suddenly as the fog had thickened, it begins thinning and the murkiness is cleared away to expose . . . the moon? And . . . the ocean. Huh. Sokka looks up to the spherical beacon of light in the expanse of nothingness, the sound of waves crashing against the shore lulling him into a state of tranquility. Now this—this is definitely a lot nicer. He kind of wants to take his shoes off and just wiggle his toes in the sand.

No stars, no sun, no sky. Just the moon.

He walks forward until the water is now lapping at his feet. His eyes slide shut and a sigh of serenity escapes him. It's like the ocean is caressing him, soothing him with its little whispers and salty air. Holding him, anchoring him, sinking him, pulling him, dragging—

Sokka's eyes fly open and he cries out, stumbling backwards. But the ocean won't let him, the water rises, submerging him. A gargled scream echoes in the empty air when he reemerges but there's nobody around to hear. Just the moon.

_Relax._

Sokka paddles his feet, swings his arms, but the ocean is too strong.

_We are here to help you._

A large wave crashes over his head, pushing him back under.

_Relax, Sokka._

The moon, warped and distorted by the stormy sea, shines down on him and its light reaches for him, latches onto him.

_Don't be afraid._

Sokka's running out of air. He needs to _breathe. _His lungs burn and he tries to swim up—up into that fresh, wonderful air—but his limbs are too heavy, they weigh him down. But maybe . . . maybe he doesn't need to swim. Because the moon—the moon is pulling him. Taking him up, up, up—he's nearing the surface, he can feel it, even as his body begs for oxygen. Up, closer, closer, up—

* * *

Sokka comes to with a loud gasp, coughing and spluttering and relishing every gulp of air he inhales. He falls back to lay on the ground, legs untangling and arms at his side. Then he breathes. He just _breathes._

Until Ozai's face pops into his line of sight. "You did it, didn't you?" he asks earnestly, for once sporting an expression besides anger and malevolence. "You went to the Spirit World," he breathes, Sokka's soul charm thingy dangling in his hand. "Did you see him?" the Fire Lord demands heatedly. "The Progenitor, did you see him? Is he as beautiful as the books depict him to be?"

Wow. Okay. Someone's a bit excited. And Sokka is almost certain his ears pick up a hint of _obsessiveness _in there.

Ozai grabs the Water Tribe boy's shoulders and proceeds to shake him like a rag doll. "Answer me, boy!"

"Fuck, would you—" Sokka pushes the Fire Lord away—very, very disturbed by their close proximity—and straightens up to redon his shirt. "Yeah, I met him," is Sokka's curt reply.

Ozai doesn't really seem to catch on that Sokka doesn't want to talk right now. Or if he does, he just doesn't care. It's probably the latter. The Fire Lord stands up after the Water Tribe boy, slipping back into his tunic as well. "When are you bringing him back?"

Sokka faces away from the other man. "I'm not."

Silence. Charged, lethal silence.

Shit. Maybe Sokka shouldn't have said that just yet. Damn it, he totally should've waited until there were at least _witnesses _around.

"I don't think I quite heard you right, boy. So I'm going to give you one more chance to answer me _correctly _when I ask, _when are you bringing the Progenitor back?_"

Great. Good. He's giving Sokka an out; _use it. _"I'm not doing it." SPIRITS DAMN IT, what is _wrong _with him? It's like he's got a death wish or something.

Sokka is debating whether or not he can make a break for the door before Ozai decides to light him up like a firework when the Fire Lord, rather than resort to violence, simply instructs, "Follow me."

Sokka's got his qualms about going anywhere with Ozai after what he'd just said, but curiosity wins out and he tags along behind the Fire Lord, albeit a bit guardedly.

"Where are we going?" the Water Tribe boy inquires, staring at the back of the other man's head. He doesn't get an answer. Whatever. Sokka shrugs to himself, a mental map forming in his head as Ozai leads him out of his room and down the hallways (it wouldn't hurt to try to remember where they're going).

Students pass by them and Sokka would give a friendly nod to each of them, maybe even going so far as to wink at a group of cute guys—or girls, he doesn't discriminate—every now and then. However, everybody seems to be more focused on the fact that he's trailing after Fire Lord Asshole rather than how studly and good-looking he is. Usually, Sokka wouldn't mind people's pointing and whispering. If they're accompanied by blushing and giggling. These point-and-whispers are acutely bereft of any flirty connotations.

Well, that's something else Ozai can add to his skillset: firebender, scary tyrant overlord only held in check by his Council, spawner of jerkbender children, and _ultimate cockblocker._

Sokka sighs. Ah, forget 'em. The school's a lot more interesting to look at.

It's weird, actually. He's been attending this school for a few good days now, but he's never really . . . _looked _at it. It's huge! And he already knows that it's full of secret passageways and trap doors because _he saw one for himself. With his very own eyes. _Maybe some time to himself—to just explore this place and get more intimate with the layout so he _stops getting lost_—is just what he needs.

Yeah. Sokka smiles to himself. Yeah, that sounds nice.

He'll definitely do that tomorrow. If he's still alive.

Cue gulp noise of dismay and dread.

* * *

"Sokka's been gone a long time, Katara."

The waterbender fidgets, wringing her hands. "I know, Aang, I know. I'm . . . I'm starting to get a little worried too," she admits.

"Yeah, well, talking about it isn't gonna do jackshit for anybody, now is it?" Toph stands with her legs spread, arms crossed, and face steely. "I don't know what the hell's goin' on here, Sugar Queen, but there's somethin' off about you."

Katara blinks. "Me?" she questions quizzically. "What's wrong with me?"

"Well, that's a pretty long list there, Sweetness. For one, you're bossy. Two, you're really uptight. C, you're—"

"What Toph _means, _Katara," Aang interrupts, "is that you don't . . . seem like yourself."

"Well, yeah, that too."

"What?" Katara jumps off the stone bench she was seated on and Aang follows suit. "What're you talking about?"

"It's nothing big," Aang says, rubbing the back of his neck. "And it's nothing you've done. Well, wait, that's not true, it is kind of that but it's also—"

"Shhh."

Katara shoots Toph a dark look. "You can't just go around accusing me of acting _weird _or whatever and then shush Aang when he's trying to expl—"

"_Shhh!_" Toph returns Katara's glare. Though hers seems aimed more towards the waterbender's left ear. The earthbender motions for her two friends to duck behind a long line of white dragon bushes.

"Toph, what are you—"

"Would you just _shut up _already, Sugar Queen? Somebody's coming!"

Aang's arm itches from where the brambles scratch at him. "But why're we hiding? Lots of people come to the gardens."

However, Aang doesn't get an answer because at that moment, a pair of footsteps can be heard exiting the hedge maze off to the left and into the trio's little clearing.

"Is the maze really necessary? _Who likes those things?_" a particularly familiar voice cries out. "There is absolutely no point to them except to confuse the piss out of people. How do you even remember your way through there?"

"You are just chock full of questions, aren't you?" Through the leaves and branches of the bush, Aang can just make out the face of the Fire Lord. And boy, does he look like he's about to pop a gasket.

"Well, yeah. _Somebody's _gotta ask 'em."

"Do you even _hear _yourself when you talk?"

"Not usually."

"Hn. That explains it then."

"Y'know, if you weren't such an asshole, I think people would like you more."

The pair stop at the massive round stone set in the center of the grassy clearing.

"Such big words . . . for such small stature."

"I am _not _small!" Sokka objects, hands on hips and chest puffed out.

Hidden in the bushes, Katara rolls her eyes.

Aang is scrambling for a better view, climbing atop Toph and trying to see past her poofy hair. "Toph, I can't _see!_" he sussurates.

"Well, I can't see either," she quips.

"Toph—" A pseudo-wrestling match ensues, Katara intervening and doing her best to pull the two apart.

"This isn't a _movie theater, _you guys!" She is not successful.

"Uh, so, what? Are we just gonna stand here and stare at this stone all day? I mean, it's pretty impressive, I gotta admit, since it takes up more space than my tent back home, but I don't get why you had to—"

"Stop talking," says Ozai with an upraised hand, his hearing picking up on an undeniable rustling from behind him.

The trio behind the bushes all freeze in their respective positions: Toph with her palm squished against the side of Aang's face, the airbender with his foot shoved in the earthbender's stomach, and Katara with her head in her hands (read: migraine).

"There's somebody else here."

"Well, _duh,_" Sokka says. "It's the gardens, man!" The Water Tribe boy leans over to nudge the Fire Lord with an elbow. "You were a teenager once, eh, eh?"

Ozai is unimpressed. "Do remove yourself from my personal space," he says, brushing Sokka away as if he were a speck of lint. "I am far above such . . . innuendo."

When the Fire Lord crouches down to putter with the slab of stone, seemingly disregarding his earlier supposition, the benders behind the bushes heave a silent, simultaneous sigh.

"Come, boy."

The three benders can just hear Sokka's eye-roll. "What?" he says without moving whatsoever.

"I said _come._"

"And I said _what?_" Sokka crosses his arms. "Y'know, if we're just gonna repeat everything we say, this conversation is gonna take twice as long."

Ozai groans in displeasure but wisely refrains from arguing. Instead, he gets into a fighting stance, knees bent and legs spread.

This piques Sokka's interest—just slightly—and he scoots forward about an inch or so—not too much lest Ozai start thinking Sokka actually, like, _cares _or something. "What're you doing?"

"Some doors," Ozai moves his hands in a slow, wide circle, "require bending to be opened."

"Rrrrright," Sokka says, eyes narrowed in thought. "You're telling me that this thing is a door?"

"Ah, it seems the peasant boy does possess a modicum of intelligence."

Ignoring Fire Lord Asshole's jab, Sokka queries, "Where's it lead? Don't tell me it's another dungeon."

". . . Of a sort." Ozai inhales deeply, bringing his left foot in and then forward, digging it into the grass as he shoots a blast of fire from his hands at the stone. Sokka's about to take off running—screw Fire Lord Asshole if he thinks that Sokka's going to get himself thrown into prison again—but what the man says next stops him. "It is where the Progenitor's petrified body is kept."

The clandestine group of benders all exchange curious glances.

_Progenitor? _Katara seems to say.

_There's a rockified mummy under our school? Awesome! _Aang seems to say.

_I think there's a twig up my ass, _Toph seems to say.

"His . . . body?" Sokka blinks, watching as Ozai steps back and loud whirring, clicking noises emanate from beneath the now red-hued and sizzling hot stone.

The rock seems to split down the middle and the two halves rise up to unearth a set of steps. But Sokka's more interested in the door itself. They were originally hidden from view underground but Sokka can now clearly see the mechanizations of the door—wheels and gears and tubes and cogs—and his hands itch to have at 'em. How do they work? Does only firebending open the door? How do you close them again? Since the door is made of stone, could an earthbender open it anyway if they know what they're looking for?

Maybe on another day, he could ask Toph if she could—er, wait. Should she be involved in this? He doesn't want to drag her into this mess. Katara's already in it and—shit, he still needs to talk to her. Then there's Zuko—

"Are you deaf or have you forgotten how to walk? I said _follow me,_" Ozai snaps, already traipsing down the stairs. "Before the door closes on you."

Sokka shoves his thoughts to the back of his mind. He can worry about that later. Now . . . Now, he's going to go see a fossilized corpse. And yeah, okay, he's kind of excited. This is like that movie where archaeologist and adventurer Mississippi Jonas found a mummy in a crypt underneath a hospital and then a whole bunch of other monster mummies ambushed her because they wanted to protect the master monster mummy or whatever but she just kicked all their asses with her nunchucks and—

Okay, so Sokka's a lot excited. Can ya blame him?

As the Water Tribe boy bounces off after Fire Lord Asshole in much higher spirits, he is completely unaware of the three benders behind the bushes silently scheming how to reopen that secret, secret door in the ground.

"We _have _to go in there."

"I dunno, Aang. I mean, I want to, but—"

"Great. Then it's settled, Sweetness." A crack of the knuckles. "Let's do this."

* * *

**A/N: Mississippi Jonas = Indiana Jones**

**Like, whoa, right?**

**Sorry. I just couldn't think of anything original . . .**

**Probably why this story is just a clusterfuck of cliches.**

**But, um, hey! YOU aren't a cliche. (; Eh, eh? No?**

**Whatever. You're still amazing. Did you do something different with your hair today? (;**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: So, uh, I totally messed with the timeline of the whole series. Y'know, for the sake of this story.**

**I REWROTE HISTORY.**

**No, but seriously, if you get confused, there'll be a (hopefully) clearer explanation at the end.**

**Oh, and, uh, exposition! Yay!**

* * *

It'd be completely dark if it weren't for the fire held in Ozai's cupped hand. But that sorry excuse of a light is nowhere near sufficient enough to put Sokka at ease in this tunnel of horrors. The flame's glow, though steady and warm, isn't strong enough to penetrate the shadows of the tunnel's edges and ceiling.

Sokka swears that he's hearing _something _from up above. Just creeping and crawling along with its long, spindly, hairy legs. It'll bear its massive fangs that drip with venom and—

"Eep! What was that? What was that?" Sokka whips his head from side to side, freezing in place and arms taking up karate chop positions. There it is again, that weird fluttering noise! "WHAT IS THAT?"

Ozai doesn't acknowledge the Water Tribe boy's state of distress. Just keeps on walking. Fine. Whatever. He can go and get himself eaten by giant, carnivorous viper bats if he wants to.

. . . Except Ozai is the only one with a light source. There's the unmistakable sound of rattling and wing-flapping from behind Sokka. Okay, fuck it, running. Now.

Sokka catches up to Fire Lord Asshole, curling in on himself and staying behind the cover of the firebender's form. Okay, so it's not his proudest moment. But—But—But—_viper bats! _They've got all those fangs and the—the—the tongue and those beady little demonic eyes of _evil._

Judging from the depth of those stairs they'd just descended from and the seemingly unending darkness ahead of them, this is going to be a long, long, long, long, _long _trek. So it stands to reason that this is as good a time as any to ask that question that's been plaguing Sokka's mind for days on end now.

"Sooooo," Sokka begins conversationally, "whatever happened to my boomerang?"

". . . Boomerang?" the Fire Lord repeats uncertainly, as if unfamiliar with the word.

"Yes, my _boomerang,_" the Water Tribe boy snaps with a pout and arms crossed, growing bolder at the sudden rush of righteous indignation. "Y'know, the weapon that you so rudely confiscated when you _kidnapped me. _Ringin' any bells?"

"Ah, yes," Ozai says after a short, pensive pause. "The little bent twig."

"It is _not _a little bent twig!" Sokka protests, highly offended. This is boomerang he's talking about here! The guy could show some respect or something. Boomerang's been through thick and thin with Sokka, made even more significant in his eyes by the fact that his dad gave it to him. "Look," the Water Tribe boy sighs, opting to play nice, "that boomerang, it's . . . it's really important to me, okay? Do ya think," deep breath for strength and courage, "youcouldjustgiveitbacktomeplease?" he forces out in a rush.

Sokka waits with bated breath for Ozai's answer. He's just beginning to think that it won't come, that maybe Fire Lord Asshole had tuned him out ages ago, when there comes a soft, gruff, "Very well."

Behind the Fire Lord's back, Sokka breaks out into his victory dance, whooping and hollering in his head. He hops forward to be in line with Ozai and prods the man's ribs with his elbow. "Deep down, you're just a giant teddy bear, aren't you?"

"Touch me again, peasant, and you won't live to regret it."

"Oookay." Sokka slinks back to trudging behind Ozai. So he probably shouldn't be pushing his luck right now. Noted.

The Fire Lord exhales from his nose, already lamenting his choice to return the peasant boy's plaything. It's almost as if the boy is . . . warming up to him—pun not intended, such a man as himself is above such things. It's unacceptable, really. Perhaps he should rescind his decision.

_No, _the ever-present voice in his head says. _Let the boy think what he wants. He will cease to be a problem soon enough._

Ozai breathes easy at these words. _Yes. Soon. Soon enough._

* * *

"We don't know what's down there, Toph! Plus, what if they hear us opening the door? What then?"

"Look, maybe we should just all calm d—

Gritted teeth. "Look, Sugar Queen, either you're with us or you're not, but I'm opening this door regardless. So _move _or I will _make _you."

"Seriously, you guys—"

"What if we endanger Sokka's life by doing this?! You are such a _selfish brat! _Do you _ever _think of anybody but y—"

"'_Selfish brat'? _That's it, Sweetness, you're gettin' a face full o' dirt _right the fuck n_—"

"YOU GUYS!" Aang booms, stepping between the bickering pair and stretching his arms out, palms held up to the two of them. Toph and Katara quiet down, but they don't shift from their fighting stances. Deeming the immediate threat of violence to be quelled, at least for the moment, Aang lets his arms drop. "You two have been arguing for the past five minutes already," he says, addressing the both of them with stern looks. "But I think the best course of action right now is to take a breather and try to talk this out like _civilized _people."

"Oh, please, Toph, civilized? Those two words go together like ketchup and cookies."

"Oh, yeah, Sugar Queen? How 'bout you put your money where your mouth is?"

"Do you even _know _what that phrase means, you uncultured swine—"

"Y'know, you're slingin' a lotta insults around, Sugar Queen, and I'm gettin' pretty sick of—"

"ENOUGH!" Aang turns to glare at Toph. "Look, I get that you want to open the door and go down there to see what's inside. So do I." Katara opens her mouth to speak but the airbender silences her with an upraised palm, not even bothering to look at her. "But Katara has a point. We don't know why the Fire Lord took Sokka down there and we don't know what'll happen if he finds out that we know there's a secret door in the gardens. Secrets are secret for a reason."

"Of course you'd go and stand up for your precious little Sugar Queen over there."

"And what the hell is _that _supposed to mean?"

"I think you know full well what—"

"But Toph has a point also," Aang interjects, facing the waterbender now. "You can't tell me that you're not even just a little bit worried about your brother going somewhere like that alone with the Fire Lord. I don't really know what to think about all the things you've told us about Sokka and the Fire Lord, but I do know that whatever we choose to do will have negative consequences. There's no escaping that. But if we'd stop fighting and all get onboard with one decision, we can work together to make the best of it. Okay?"

Katara blinks dazedly.

It's times like these that she'll look at Aang and wonder how someone so young and childlike can sometimes seem so . . . wise.

Toph, however, is wondering where Twinkle Toes pulled that bullshit speech from. It's not that she doesn't agree—the guy makes a lot of sense, actually, it's weird. It's just that she, herself, wasn't thinking _any _of those things.

Toph just wants to see a dead body.

Although, she's got a sneaking suspicion that Aang is well aware of that fact. Whatever the case, she decides to go along with it. Maybe Sugar Queen will finally cave.

". . . I just don't think it's a good idea, Aang. I'm sorry."

Welp. There go the hopes that Madame Fussy Britches over there will listen to reason.

Aang deflates. He's not going to lie, he really wanted to see that dead body too.

"Whatever. I'm going in there anyway."

Katara bristles. "So you're not even going to respect my thoughts, my opinions? After all that, you're still just going to do what you want?" the waterbender scorns. "Typical Toph. Spoiled rotten by her parents but still ungrateful and—"

"Don't you talk about my parents!"

"I'll talk about whatever I damn well please, you—"

"My parents have nothing to do with this!"

"Oh, well, I beg to differ, considering how we wouldn't be here screaming in each other's faces right now if they hadn't raised such a _rotten, egotistical_—"

"Well, _you _were born with a fucking _stick up your ass_—"

"And there you go with the cursing again—"

"You curse all the time, you _fucking _hypocrite!"

"I'm surprised you even understand the definition of that—"

"Are you calling me _stupid, _Sugar Queen? 'Cause if you are, I suggest you tread very, very lightly."

"Oh, like I'm scared of a short—"

Aang, having been pushed off to the side as the two girls stalked up to each other for a nose-to-nose screamfest, rubs his forehead and fetches a forbearing sigh.

He looks up to the setting sun and Momo peeks out from the folds of the airbender's robes, chittering and chattering angrily as if scolding Katara and Toph for interrupting his nap. Aang plunks down in the grass and scratches absently at the top of the lemur's head.

"Sorry, Momo. You might as well just stay awake. They're gonna be fighting for a _looooong _time . . ."

* * *

Sokka lets loose a low whistle when Ozai lights up the torches spaced evenly around the immense circular space of the Projector's shrine or sanctum or whatever. He couldn't care less about what to call the place. What's really got his attention is what's _inside _the room.

This place is like a pirate's treasure chest. Times a hundred. There's even an actual freaking chest over there on the west side of the room! The walls are embellished with shields and swords and what must be every weapon imaginable, polished and shined to perfection. Gold coins lay scattered in jumbled, chaotic heaps on the floor and are brimming out of the treasure chest (_it's a real life treasure chest!_). Pearls, gems, jewels—just—_so much shiny stuff._

It's . . . more than tempting to want to steal something from here. But it's not _really _stealing, is it? It's not like the Projector guy _needs _all this stuff. He's dead or whatever. Plus, he won't miss that gorgeous little boomerang over there, will he? Of course not. Sokka's own trusty boomerang could use a friend. So it's okay for him to just discreetly—

"Don't. Touch. Anything."

Damn. Sokka really needs to work on his discreetliness.

On the opposite end of the room lies an arch opening identical to the one they'd just entered and Sokka scrambles to follow after Ozai as he walks through it, eyes lingering longingly on those beautiful, beautiful weapons. He glouts at the back of the Fire Lord's head. There was absolutely no reason to light that room up if they weren't even gonna stay in there. The guy obviously did it to taunt Sokka. Stupid asshole Fire Lords.

The conjoining room they'd just entered, though considerably much larger than the previous one, isn't quite as impressive. However, it more than makes up for it with the glass case set smack-dab in the center of it. A glass case that's got to take up as much space as the room he shares with Katara. Which is pretty freaking big.

Sokka runs up to the glass case, slamming his hands onto the surface and pressing his nose against it to stare in consternation at the petrified corpse lying within. Er, well, it's not really a corpse. It's just a skull. A really big skull, but still just a skull nonetheless. Sokka's about to accuse Ozai of false advertising—he _did _kind of expect to see the whole dragon down here—but, well, this is his very first look at a dead dragon. He's not complaining.

The dragon in the Spirit World seemed a lot smaller than this though. But maybe that's only because he's in the Spirit World. He could've shrunk himself or something. It's not like Sokka really cares.

There's a sharp tug on his collar and Sokka staggers back with a strangled cry.

Ozai grimaces, whipping out a handkerchief from . . . somewhere. Sokka's really not sure where he keeps anything on his person. "Do refrain from defacing the Progenitor's sacred resting place with your . . . _grubby _paws," he says, wiping at the glass case.

It's kind of really weird, actually. The Fire Lord, cleaning. Sokka definitely didn't think he'd ever live to see something like this. Today is . . . kind of awesome.

Sokka begins circling the glass case to get a look at the severed head from every possible angle (except from above, of course). It actually reminds him of those animal skeletal exhibits in the museum he once visited with Gran-Gran when they were still living in the Fire Nation. The head is elevated from the ground in the glass case and rests on rich, velvety padding. Though the casket holding the dragon skull is quite massive, the skull itself is probably about six feet in length with half the height and width. It's fascinating, really, and Sokka can't understand how something that was once probably amazingly beautiful . . . could turn into the pompous, creepy spirit he met in the Spirit World. But even now . . . those large empty sockets where the eyes should be seem just as dark and sinister as the Projector spirit's glowing red ones.

"So . . . where's the rest of his body?" Sokka asks when he makes a complete loop and returns to the Fire Lord's side.

"It was the Progenitor's wish to have his body burnt and the ashes stored along with his dismembered head," Ozai answers, pointing to the five urns located around the room.

Sokka's kind of disappointed in himself for not noticing them before—like everything else in this place, the vases are huge, taller than him by a good couple of inches even.

Ozai steps back from the case, pleased with his handiwork.

"I'm confused," Sokka says suddenly, though still inexplicably mesmerized by those hollow, vacant eye sockets. Spirits, this went from new and exciting to foreboding and creepy pretty freaking quickly.

"How surprising," the Fire Lord intones sarcastically.

Okay, uh, ignoring that. "This whole petrification process—it takes a long time, doesn't it? So, what, did the dragon leave you guys a will or something with instructions on what to do with his dead body once you found it?"

"As a matter of fact, he did."

Oh. Well, that makes sense, Sokka supposes. In a . . . really, really weird way. "How'd you burn his body after it turned to stone? Can you even _burn _stone?"

Ozai sighs, as if answering the (very logical and reasonable) questions of some peasant boy (who's not even really a peasant! Uh, hello, son of the Southern Water Tribe's chief here) is beneath him. "When the Progenitor's body was found, he had already been decapitated and his head was nowhere to be found. It wasn't discovered until much later on this very island."

See? How was Sokka supposed to know that if he didn't ask? Pfft.

"How'd he die?" the Water Tribe boy inquires next. He didn't really expect to be getting a history lesson today, but, well, it couldn't hurt, right? Maybe Sokka can learn something about this dragon spirit that can be used against it.

"The Progenitor's life was taken from him long before dragon hunting became a popular sport," Ozai begins, slowly pacing around the large skull.

Sokka stays where he is, the Fire Lord's echoing voice traveling to his ears loud and clear, and kind of wants to ask more about this dragon hunting thing. Why would the firebenders do that? Aren't dragons the original firebenders or something? That's got to be breaking some honorary bending code or something. But he bites his tongue, filing the question away for later.

"Legend has it that the Progenitor sacrificed his life for the good of the Fire Nation, engaging in a grand and arduous battle with Ran and Shaw, the red and blue dragons whom are also said to be the original masters of firebending."

"A battle? The good of the Fire Nation?" Somehow, Sokka finds that a little hard to believe.

"_Don't _interrupt me, boy."

"Aye, aye, cap'n," says Sokka with a mock salute, earning him a wiltering glare from the Fire Lord. Sokka just grins.

Ozai frowns and wonders briefly if maybe he's losing his touch. Usually those glares would have others bowing and groveling at his feet.

"Ran and Shaw," Sokka prompts, "good of the Fire Nation . . ."

". . . Right." The Fire Lord resumes pacing. "Ran and Shaw threatened to eradicate the Fire Nation, claiming that we no longer understood the 'true' meaning of firebending." Oh, the air quotes are fierce on this one. "The two dragons wanted to start over, wanted us to revert back to the primitive ways of those uncivilized Sun Warriors."

Sun Warriors? Yeah, that's going in the question file too.

"This all took place during the rule of the Pho Zel Dynasty, and the Fire Lord at the time ordered to have the two dragons captured and beheaded before any real danger could come to the Fire Nation." Pause. "However, the nation was still under development, always growing bigger and faster and _better. _People were busy—making discoveries, improving the old, and inventing the new. Not many people had the time or the courage to venture on such a dangerous, daunting task, and those who did volunteer wound up unsuccessful.

"The Fire Lord began growing distressed and anxious with every day that passed by and the dragons remained alive, knowing full well that a war between the steadily expanding Fire Nation and the Sun Warriors would set the nation back drastically."

"But what would killing the dragons do?" Sokka risks interrupting. "The Sun Warriors obviously agreed with the viewpoint of Ran and Shaw, right? So wouldn't they just attack anyway?"

"Astute observation. Perhaps you're not as dumb as you look."

Yeah, ignoring that too.

"True, there was a very probable chance that the Fire Lord's order to have the two dragons killed would yield naught but wasted resources and lost men. However, there was also a very probable chance that once Ran and Shaw were removed from the picture, so to speak, the Sun Warriors would be lost, without guidance."

"And . . . fall apart into chaos?"

"That was the plan, yes," Ozai nods.

"Okay, so, then what?"

"I am _getting _there."

Sokka puts his hands up in surrender, indicating for Ozai to continue.

"The Fire Lord was more than aware of the hazard looming before him and the futile efforts of his people. Ergo, his closest companion, seeing the stress he was under and the heaviness of the situation, offered up his services in the matter."

"His closest companion being this Projector dragon?" Sokka knows full well what the dragon's correct name is. Ozai probably knows that Sokka knows too. He also probably knows that Sokka knows but refuses to act like he knows just to piss him off.

Ozai corrects him anyway. "Yes. The _Progenitor _then set out towards the city of the Sun Warriors, north of the mainland, informing the Fire Lord that should he not return, he is to be found and his body burned—in honor of the Fire Nation," he says. "Days passed and the Progenitor didn't return. The Fire Lord, worried, sent out a scouting team to search for his missing companion. What they found was . . . strange, to say the least.

"To this day, no one is really sure what took place there. Oh, people have speculated over the years, conjured up extravagant stories embellished with glory and grandeur. But in truth, the whole event is just one big mystery, perhaps never to be solved."

"Well, what happened?" Sokka urges, hooked on the story now and growing impatient.

Ozai seems almost pleased that someone is interested in his talking. Even if it is some lowly Water Tribe peasant.

"Upon reaching the city and barely evading the various booby traps—"

"Booby traps?" Sokka breathes, eyes shining.

"—set up around and throughout the metropolis," Ozai continues without missing a beat, "the scouts found the area to be deserted. Not a trace of life in sight. Only the Progenitor's body, limp and lifeless, lying in the center of the large city, almost as if someone had left it there to be found."

"And his head was missing."

Ozai inclines his head, coming to stand beside Sokka once more. "It was no easy feat but the scouts managed to bring the Progenitor's body back to present to the Fire Lord, as well as report that the Sun Warriors had seemingly completely vanished.

"Another search party was formed and dispatched, this one much larger than the previous one, to locate the whereabouts of the Sun Warriors. However, their exploration proved fruitless and after two fortnights, they were called back."

"And the Sun Warriors?"

"It is only to be assumed that the people have simply . . . died out."

Sokka turns this over in his head for a minute. "And what do _you_ think happened to them?"

"I don't know, nor do I really care."

"Of course not," Sokka grumbles. He stretches before rubbing his stomach absentmindedly. Spirits, he's hungry. "So is there a reason you dragged me down here other than to spout some stories of long-dead people at me?"

Ozai sighs to himself, as if silently asking the universe why, out of all the people to be born with a detached soul, it had to be _this _boy.

"There is a lesser known legend—"

"Oh, Spirits, _another _story? Where's the campfire? The marshmallows? C'mon, man."

"—of how the Great Comet is the Progenitor's way of reaching out to us from beyond the grave, giving the Fire Nation his blessing and encouraging us to take the world by storm."

"Rrrrright, okay. So . . . that's a no on the marshmallows?"

"However, when the the time came for the Great Comet to come around—"

"It didn't, yeah, yeah, I know, everybody does. So what?"

"Do you not understand?" Ozai growls, bearing down on Sokka and forcing the latter to lean back. "Something was _wrong._"

"Yeah. It was weird. It was also a hundred fucking years ago. It's not like that stopped the Fire Nation from keepin' on with that whole world domination motif. You guys kept fighting for, like, another eighty years. Your point?"

"My _point, _you ignorant, ignorant peasant, is that the Progenitor has lost all hope for us."

"Really?" says Sokka, taking a step back because, um, personal space. It's kind of lacking here. "And how would you know this?"

"Because he told me!"

Oh. Oh, dear. Well, it's confirmed then. Ozai is officially batshit insane.

"Okay, um, sure he did," Sokka agrees, playing along.

"You don't believe me."

"No, no! Of course I—"

"Don't _patronize _me, boy!" Ozai steps forward, eyes swirling and flashing dangerously. Oh, Sokka is _so _screwed right now, isn't he? "You can't even _begin _to fathom the—the _connection _I share with him," the Fire Lord snarls, flustered and ruffled as never before. "He is everywhere—inside, outside, waiting and talking and—and—_alive. _He lives through _me._"

"Okay," Sokka squeaks, voice small. "Gotcha."

Ozai pulls back, shrugging his shoulders and recomposing himself. "But he needs more." This guy's mood swings are almost as bad as Katara's when she's on her . . . shark week.

Sokka clears his throat, trying to brush off his pansiness. He's tough. He's brave. He ain't scared of no crazed Fire Lord. "Which is where I come into play, right?"

"Yes. The Progenitor requires an empty vessel to truly come back, to truly _live._"

"Um. Why?" Sokka inquires.

"Are you hard of hearing, boy? I _just _said—"

"No, no, I didn't mean that," Sokka clarifies, "I mean, why come back to life? What can he do with a body that he can't do as a spirit?"

Ozai stares at the Water Tribe boy as if he's particularly daft. "He can rule the world at my side."

". . . And you would allow that?" Sokka says, tone colored with just a dash of amused skepticism. "You, the power-crazed megalomaniac, would hand over the world to a _dragon?_"

"Without the Progenitor, the Fire Nation would have never become the empire it is today!" Ozai proclaims, quite dramatically if Sokka does say so himself. "We would have fallen into fragmentation and chaos, brought to ruins by those traitors."

"The Sun Warriors."

"Those savages knew not what greatness the Fire Nation held and what greatness it was to come to hold. Fools, they were, and they would've torn the whole nation apart if it weren't for the Progenitor."

"Well, you're kinda jumpin' the gun there, don'tcha think?" Sokka purses his lips, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "You don't know what happened to the Sun Warriors. Who's to say they aren't just in hiding right now? Who's to say the Projector guy had _anything _to do with their disappearance?"

"It doesn't matter," Ozai dismisses easily with a disdainful wave of his hand. "They aren't the problem here. The problem is that the Progenitor must be brought back before the end of the approaching summer."

". . . Why?"

"The comet, boy, the comet!" Ozai exclaims, exasperated beyond belief. Damned blubbering peasant is obviously mentally challenged. "The Great Comet is to arrive at the end of the summer and then . . . then the Fire Nation will rise once more and claim what is rightfully theirs," the Fire Lord finishes rather emphatically.

"Rrrrright, um, that doesn't make any sense." Sokka quirks an eyebrow, not backing down from Ozai's scowl. "You're telling me that the comet only comes 'cause the Projector wills it or whatever, right? Which is already a pretty flawed premise," Sokka goes on to say without waiting for an answer, "but let's say it's true. Then by that logic, can't you just ask the guy to send the comet around . . . whenever? Why wait? Why not take over the world first, make sure that you've established a powerful, stable world empire and bring him back then? That way, if it all goes to hell and you fail epicly, he can always just wait around for someone else to come along to possess or whatever rather than die as some human that—"

"That is more than enough!" Ozai swivels around, turning his back on Sokka.

The Water Tribe boy sighs, rolling his eyes. "Look, there's a lot of holes in the logic of your plan. Maybe . . . Maybe the dragon dude's got something else up his sleeve. Something you don't know."

"What are you implying?" The Fire Lord faces Sokka once more.

"I'm not implying anything," Sokka denies carefully, crossing his arms. "I'm just saying that maybe . . . this guy is playing you for a—"

"I won't stand for this!" Ozai shouts, spittle flying. Which, well, _gross. _"You will _not _speak of him that way, do you understand?" Sokka narrows his eyes. Spirits, this guy has truly lost it. He's like putty in that Projector dude's hands. Er, claws. Talons? "_Do you understand?_"

"Read ya loud and clear, _sarge_." Another sloppy salute.

"_Fine_. We're leaving now."

"Wait," Sokka says, standing his ground. "You still haven't told me why you brought me here. Unless the point was to move me with your," Sokka waves his arms around mystically, "legends and stories or whatever, then, uh . . . well, it didn't really work."

Ozai shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yes," he mutters. "It was rather foolish of me to think that some uncivilized peasant could ever come to appreciate the history of the Fire Nation and all that it stands for."

"'All that it stands for'? Like death and destruction and genocide? Oh, yeah, I can just _feel _the nationalism _surging _within my core."

Ozai doesn't deign to grace that with a response. Just begins walking to the north end of the room and tugging on a sconce.

"Come, boy," the Fire Lord orders, voice as apathetic as ever, when the rock wall to the right of the torch reveals itself to actually _not _be a wall. But a door.

Okay, all things aside . . . that's pretty freaking cool.

* * *

"We are _not _opening that door, Toph!"

"You're right, _we _aren't. But _I _am!"

"_UGGGH!_ You are IMPOSSIBLE!"

"And _you _are annoying!"

"Brat!"

"Bossypants!"

"You have about as much tact and brainpower as a _rock!_"

"Oh, yeah? Well, you can't deal with the fact that not everything is under _your _control!"

"That is _not _true!"

"It is too!"

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Oh, YEAH?"

"YEAH!"

"Well, how about we ask _Aang?_"

The two girls whip their heads to the side to look at the airbender. Only to find that he has dozed off, curled up around a lemur that seems equally dead to the world. Toph and Katara sag, the fight draining out of them.

"Truce?" Toph proposes eventually, holding out a hand.

"Truce," Katara concedes, grabbing the earthbender's proffered hand and shaking it.

Aang sighs almost happily in his sleep as he snuggles into Momo's fur and Katara regards him with such blatant affection that even a blind person can see how absolutely smitten she is with him. Which is funny. Because, hey, Toph's a blind person! She doesn't say anything though. Let Sugar Queen figure it out for herself. But here's hoping that she won't be as obtuse as Snoozles and that Phoenix Prince guy.

What? Just 'cause she's blind doesn't mean she can't _notice _things.

"It's getting late," Katara murmurs with a cursory glance at the sun that has all but disappeared behind the towering walls of the Nativitas Academy. "We should probably get going or all the good food will be gone."

"Great. I'll wake Twinkle Toes."

"Toph, wait, be—"

"HEY, TWINKLE TOES, GET UP!"

"GUWAH!"

Momo yowls, jumping out of Aang's arms and flapping his wings in agitated confusion while the airbender flails on the ground.

"—gentle," Katara finishes uselessly.

"WHAT? WHAT? WHAT'S WRONG?"

"Nothin'. It's almost dinnertime."

Aang lets his head fall back in the grass with a thump and a groan. "So you decide to go and wake up the dead?"

"No. I was tryna wake _you _up, Twinkle Toes."

"It's an _expression, _Toph."

". . . I knew that."

Katara sighs, gaze lingering on the secret door her brother had disappeared into almost a full hour ago. "Actually, y'know what?" She lowers herself to the ground. "You guys go on ahead. I'll just stay here for a while."

Aang props himself up on his elbows. ". . . You sure, Katara?"

"Yeah," she says after a moment. "Yeah, I'm sure."

". . . Then I'll stay too."

"Oh, that's sweet, Aang, but you don't h—"

"Aw, c'mon, Twinkle Toes! Why'd ya have to go and say that?" Toph grouses, letting herself fall back to lay in the grass, a cloud of dirt rising around her. "Now I gotta stay too!"

Katara glowers at the earthbender. "Nobody's making you do anything, Toph. You _are _free to leave. I'm not _controlling _your life choices or whatever."

"What, and eat dinner with all those other morons? No thanks." Toph laces her hands behind her head and forces herself not to wonder what the sky looks like. That only leads to depressing thoughts, and she's happy with the way she is. "Plus, if I leave now, I'll seem like a jerk."

Katara's face softens and she tucks her knees up under her chin. So maybe Toph _does _have a heart somewhere deep inside that rock-hard exterior of hers. ". . . Thanks, you guys."

Toph shrugs awkwardly. "Eh, whatever."

Aang just beams widely at his two friends before taking up Toph's position of staring up at the sky. Usually he'd point out what shapes he can see in the fading clouds. But right now . . . he'd rather just lay here and bask in the comfortable silence. Plus, he knows for a fact that stuff like that doesn't appeal to Toph. And he is absolutely fine with that.

* * *

**A/N: Confused by the established timeline? Then this is the author's note for you!**

**Okay. So a long, long, looooong time ago, there was the Pho Zel Dynasty and . . . some unnamed Fire Lord, I dunno, I didn't feel like givin' him a name. Anyway, this guy is the Progenitor's original companion/owner/master/whatever. And this is all before the Hundred Year War.**

**So the Progenitor goes off to confront Ran and Shaw and the Sun Warriors and yada, yada, yada—you already read this.**

**Then the dragon dies—dead, and the Sun Warriors disappear. Whoosh.**

**Still with me? Good, great, you're doin' awesome. (:**

**Then—HUUUGE time skip and we're now looking at the current royal family—specifically, Sozin. Now, this guy decided one day, "Hey. Let's take over the world!" And sets out to do just that. Thus was the beginning of the Hundred Year War, which is the setting of the actual ATLA series, 120 years prior to _this _story.**

**Now, twenty years into the war and Sozin has the brilliant plan to harness the Great Comet's power to aid him in his endeavor since that comet passes by all close to the Earth and stuff once every century. And that year was the year that the comet was s'posed to whoosh by or whatever.**

**But it didn't. Which is why the comet retains its former name, the "Great Comet", rather than take on the moniker of "Sozin's Comet" since, well, Sozin and the Fire Nation weren't able to draw from its power to wipe out the airbenders.**

**However, he was not to be deterred!**

**"I started this war without the help of that blasted blazing rockball; I sure as hell will win this war without it!"**

**So the Fire Nation kept fighting. For eighty years. And they didn't win.**

**Treaties, negotiations, blah, blah blah, blah blah.**

**Twenty years later, and we have this story! Yay!**

**Hope that cleared up any confusion. (:**

**If not, just ask.**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: If I don't upload this chapter now, I never will, 'cause I'll just keep looking at it and fantasizing about stabbing it in the proverbial ass.**

**The next chapter will be better. Right?**

**Fuck, what am I doing asking _you _guys? _I'm _the writer . . .**

**NOT THAT Y'ALL'S INPUT DON'T MATTER. 'CAUSE IT DO. Um. My grammatical skills are on leave at the moment apparently.**

* * *

"Hey. This . . . This is the, uh, the place! Right?"

Ozai regards Sokka with an arched eyebrow.

"The dungeons!" Sokka clarifies.

The Fire Lord just exhales deeply, as if trying to calm himself and muster up some sliver of patience. Pffft. Whatever. Fire Lord Asshole wants to go around kidnapping innocent people to do his malicious bidding? Then having to deal with Sokka should be, like, karmic justice or something. Not that Sokka gets what's so terrible about his company. He likes to think of himself as a pretty awesome dude, actually.

On this side of the fake wall-door, there's another sconce that's tilted forward and Ozai pushes it back into place, the door sliding and melding back into the rest of the wall. Seriously, _how do all these things work? _He needs to _know_.

Ozai begins walking to the other end of the hall—this is definitely the dungeons; Sokka recognizes that door—and Sokka follows, analyzing the seemingly seamless rock wall to the left of them. How do the earthbenders know where one dungeon cell ends and another begins? Is it some kind of earthbender thing, like how Toph can 'see'? Maybe Sokka's giving them too much credit. Maybe it's all as simple as trial and error.

Wonder if there are any other people imprisoned h—oookay, no, actually, probably best not to think about that.

The guards are conspicuously absent though. Maybe they don't hang around when there are no prisoners to be guarding. Yeah. Sokka's going to go with that answer. Glass half full and whatever.

Ozai halts abruptly and Sokka almost runs into him.

"Hey, what's the big deal?"

Ozai doesn't answer. Not verbally, anyway. His eyes, however, flicker continually between Sokka and the metal door.

". . . Yes?" Sokka asks eventually, drawing the word out.

"Ahem."

Then it dawns on him. "Oh, my _Spirits, _you have _got _to be jokin' me."

"I don't _joke._"

Sokka yanks open the door, bowing and gesturing exaggeratedly for Fire Lord Asshole to go through first before sticking his tongue out at the back of Ozai's head. Asshole, cliché Fire Lords with their asshole, cliché comebacks and their asshole, cliché unwillingness to open doors for themselves. Hell, it may as well be considered a handicap! What does he do when no one's around to open the Spirits damn door for him? Just stand there and _wait?_

Fucking Fire Lord.

* * *

Drool leaks out of Toph's mouth and onto the grass, the plants and trees surrounding her quivering with the vibrations of her snoring. Aang is apparently impersonating a purple pentapus in his sleep, and Katara is sleeping how she always sleeps—peaceful and quiet, like a corpse in a coffin.

Once Sokka and Ozai had gone their separate ways, students were already retiring to their bedrooms. It's just Sokka's luck that he'd make it back in time to _miss _dinner. Then there was that little flaily, panicky moment when Sokka found his room to be empty and sisterless. He hadn't even tried to go looking for Aang and Toph's rooms—he can barely find his own!

But then Sokka, utilizing that brilliant pink blob in his noggin, had the fantastic idea of searching the gardens for them—seriously, those guys spend all their time out there, it's weird. So, lo and behold, here he is and there they are. Sokka has no idea what the hell these three are doing out here but he finds he doesn't really care. At least not right now. Those are things for Future Sokka to worry about.

Momo had stirred when Sokka had approached his group of friends, cracking open a single, lazy eye. However, finding nothing of interest, he'd drifted back off to sleep. Sokka takes up a spot beside his sister, a small smile tugging at his lips. Idiots. They're all going to get in trouble for staying out past curfew.

Sokka sighs, legs stretched out in front of him. He leans back on his hands, tipping his head to stare up at the stars winking down on him. He smiles and winks right back. Spirits, he doesn't think he'll ever get tired of looking at the night sky.

It's stupid, but he used to think that, after Mom died, she went up to the heavens and became a bright, beautiful, twinkly star to watch over him and Katara. Of course, now he knows that stars are just giant, flaming balls of gas floating in space a gajillion light years away. But still. It's a nice thought.

Sokka tugs out the tie holding up his hair just as a mellow wind comes breezing by, his now loose hair tickling at his nose and jaw. He should probably wake these three up and tell them to get their asses to bed—maybe they can sneak inside without anyone noticing. But, well . . .

Toph snorts loudly in her slumber and grass rustles as Aang flops onto his stomach while mumbling some nonsense about airballs and golden rings. Sokka just can't quite bring himself to disturb _that._

So . . . nah.

* * *

Zuko presses his ear up against the door separating his and Azula's conjoined rooms, straining to pick up any sounds that would indicate she's awake. Nothing. That doesn't mean he can let his guard down, though. He's already experienced too many close calls on these nightly excursions of his.

After tugging on his shoes and throwing on a light jacket, Zuko eases open his window. He can't go out his bedroom door, the one that leads out into the hallway—there's no way he's getting past those guards without being seen. Zuko sticks his head outside, taking a long, deep gulp of the fresh night air. It tastes crisp and cool and swirls around in his lungs for an exhilarating moment before being expelled in a soft, content sigh.

Zuko perches himself on the windowsill and swings his legs over onto the other side. He then begins the painstaking process of scaling down the wall by way of a wooden trellis, cracks in the wall, and lush, green vines. Zuko can't say he hates this though. Sure, the first time he did it when he was seven, he was sure that he was going to die—two stories was a daunting height for a kid like him—but now he knows exactly where to grab and where to step; it's practically second nature to him now.

Zuko drops the last few meters down onto the grass, allowing himself a short moment to reminisce on the way he's changed and grown, as well as to just be grateful for how lax the security at this school can be. For these nine months of the year that he spends at the Nativitas Academy, he doesn't have to feel trapped in his own home, or like he's constantly being watched, like he can never have a private moment to himself, not even with Uncle.

Zuko looks almost wistfully up to the starry night sky. Sometimes . . . he finds himself wishing that he could be one of those stars, bright and indistinguishable from the rest. Maybe he'd feel less out of place up there where everybody looks the same.

Zuko begins slinking down the length of the wall, sticking to the shadows, and freezing every once in a while when he hears even the slightest rustling. His bedroom window opens out to the south end of the school; the training courtyard and field of sky bison lie to the east, and the gardens—where he's heading—are off to the west.

The large iron gate is locked at this time of night but Zuko doesn't have any trouble hopping the fence. It seems like a serious overlook on the school's part to just have these vines everywhere for people to climb. But whatever. It's not like he's going to go to the trouble of filing some formal complaint about it.

* * *

This is fucking ridiculous. Sleep should come easily to him! It's, like, one of the few things he's actually good at—along with boomerang-throwing, eating, sarcasming, and planning.

Sokka huffs, getting to his feet. Well, if he can't sleep . . .

Retrieving his trusty boomerang from around his belt, Sokka just stands there for a long minute, and smiles. "I've missed ya, buddy."

The boomerang gleams happily at him.

Sokka readjusts his grip, walking a short distance away from his slumbering group of friends. He hefts the boomerang slightly, as if weighing it in his hands, reacquainting himself with the feel of it. "Haven't changed at all, huh, buddy?"

The boomerang catches the moonlight for a second.

Okay. Breathe in and bring the arm back. Now assess the situation and surroundings—little trees, big trees, bushes, that damned and highly unnecessary hedge maze. Exhale, and swing the arm forward. The boomerang goes flying, whirling through the air in a large, perfect arc around a small cluster of big trees before whooshing right on back to its owner.

Sokka catches the boomerang deftly in his right hand, elated and overjoyed like he hasn't been in a long damn while. Holding his boomerang in both hands now, Sokka raises it up high, grinning just as wide as he did the day Dad gave it to him. Maybe now—now that he's got a piece of himself back—things will get better.

Hell, he was already planning on things getting better.

Because day after tomorrow, he's going to start fixing this whole mess. He's going to stop letting himself be controlled by Fire Lord Asshole, he's going to save his sister from this wishy-washy mind control fiasco, and he's going to make sure that that Projector spirit won't _ever _see the light of day again.

. . . Damn. He should've asked for his boomerang back a long time ago.

Sokka's mood shifts abruptly and he crouches low, boomerang poised at the ready and body on alert. He definitely just heard something. Or maybe he's just overreacting. But with all the shit that's hit the fan, Sokka thinks he has a right to be paranoid.

He growls deep in his throat. Fuck. Aang, Toph, and Katara are just laying out in the open like that. He can't watch out for all of them at once. He needs to wake th—

Sokka cries out when a hand closes over his mouth, but the noise comes out muted, so he resorts to jabbing his elbow into the assailant's ribs instead. There's a satisfactory _oomph _and the guy's grip slackens enough for Sokka to break away, whirl around, and prepare to bash in his—er.

Wait. What?

"_Zuko?_"

The firebender grabs at his chest, winded. "Spirits," he wheezes. "Maybe I should've just let you scream."

Sokka shushes Zuko with a flap of his hands, looking pointedly to the three people still sleeping. Spirits, this jerkbender is _everywhere, _isn't he? Sokka was kind of hoping to avoid talking to Zuko for a while because, well, that whole incident in the dungeons is still somewhat of a sore spot for him.

Sokka's pretty much over it, really. He hasn't had much time to think about it but that's just it—it doesn't require much thinking. If Sokka was in Zuko's place, he probably would've done what Zuko had done.

Still. That doesn't mean he wants to _talk _about it.

After shoving his boomerang back into his belt, Sokka grabs Zuko's wrist and harshly yanks him up from the ground, dragging him down a random pathway and stopping only when he reaches another clearing with a fountain, this one encircled by a wall of hedges.

Sokka knows that he's gripping Zuko's arm _way _too tight, and it's got to hurt, but the whole time, Zuko says nothing. Not one complaint. Sokka doesn't know how to feel about that.

He turns to Zuko, flinging the firebender's arm out of his grip. Zuko still doesn't say anything. Even his face remains blank—his stupid face that, apparently, looks good in all sorts of lighting, not just firelight. That is just—That is completely and utterly unfair of him.

"What're you doing out here?" Sokka blurts out eventually, voice still hushed.

"I . . . come out here every night."

Sokka narrows his eyes. "I honestly can't tell if you're lying or you just suck at telling the truth."

". . . How does that even make sense?"

"It makes sense!" Sokka insists. "You just gotta not think about it."

"You and I have very different interpretations of what the word 'sense' means."

"Hmph. And you call _me _the idiot."

"That's because you are an idiot."

"Yeah, and I'm filthy and I'm not worth your time, blah blah blah, I—"

"Sokka."

"—get it, you don't have to—"

"_Sokka. Stop._"

Sokka doesn't know why he does, but he does.

"I . . ." The lightness in Zuko's tone has darkened somewhat and Sokka really doesn't have anyone to blame but himself for that, now does he? Spirits, what's wrong with him? Why'd he have to go and bring that up? Especially when he wanted to _avoid _talking about this. "You have to know that I didn't mean it. Any of it. Okay? I . . . I was just—you don't know my father, Sokka." HA. If only Zuko knew. "He—"

"Look, just—stop."

"No, Sokka, I need to say this—"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," Sokka interjects, a corner of his lips quirking up at Zuko. "I get it, okay?"

"I . . . you—really?"

"Well, yeah," says Sokka with a shrug. "I'm not gonna lie and say it didn't hurt. Because it did. But I thought about it and I realized that, hey, you were just doin' what you had to." Sokka scratches the back of his head when he's only met with silence, ducking his head. "So, uh . . . yeah." Why is everything so awkward all of a sudden? Is it awkward though? Or is it just Sokka? Maybe it's 'cause Zuko's staring at him. Why is he staring at him? "Say something. Please."

"You're an idiot," Zuko chuckles, and Sokka stumbles into his arms when Zuko tugs him into a hug.

"Are you gonna insult me every time you hug me?" Sokka says, returning the embrace. "'Cause if we're gonna be friends, you're gonna have to work on that."

Zuko chuckles airily in Sokka's ear. "Lemme make it up to you."

Sokka can't be gladder that Zuko can't see his face right now because he knows he's grinning like a goof. "I dunno, man. That's a lot to make up for."

"It's not _that _much."

"Is this you trying to make it up to me? 'Cause you're doing a terrible job of it."

Zuko laughs, arms tightening almost imperceptibly around Sokka. "You're right. I'm sorry," he concedes.

"So . . . what'd ya have in mind?"

"Anything you want," Zuko whispers back and holy _shit, _that voice alone could fuel Sokka's sex drive for the next decade.

Um. Say something. Now. Anything. "Does that include a lifetime supply of tart pies and fire gummies?"

Zuko pulls back, hands drifting down to squeeze at Sokka's sides. "It's a wonder you're still so scrawny with how much you eat."

Sokka's trying _really, _really hard not to squirm from the ticklishness of having Zuko's hands squeezing his sides, as well as from the plain fact that _Zuko's hands are squeezing his sides._

"I am not _scrawny,_" Sokka protests, voice coming out a lot steadier than he thought it would. He strikes a pose to show off his guns while Zuko snickers, hands still resting on Sokka's waist. "Yeeeaaah, I know," Sokka says with mock-arrogance. "It's okay, I know you're impressed, you don't have to hide it."

Zuko drops his head against Sokka's shoulder, biting his lip to keep from laughing.

Sokka just rolls his eyes, dropping his arms. "Jerkbender."

* * *

"Ooh, how 'bout those?" Sokka directs Zuko's attention to a cluster of stars just above them. "You can't tell me you don't see the turtle duck."

"I can. And I will. I don't see the turtle duck."

"You have absolutely no imagination," Sokka huffs, lacing his hands behind his head once more.

A blanket of comfortable silence befalls them and Sokka inches just that tiny bit closer to Zuko, smiling sleepily as he stargazes.

"So ya never told me what you were doing out here."

Zuko takes up a similar position to Sokka's with one knee bent and the other leg straightened. "I come out here every night."

"Yeah, you already said that," Sokka reminds him, looking askance at Zuko's profile. "When'd ya start?"

"I guess . . . a week after I was enrolled here."

Sokka cocks an eyebrow. "Why?"

Zuko shrugs. "I had trouble sleeping and it was . . . it was nice. It was still snowing at that time and I guess . . . I'd just never seen anything like it before."

Sokka blows a wayward strand of hair out of his eyes.

"Hey," Sokka starts, pausing for a yawn, "have ya ever wished upon a star before?" Zuko doesn't reply, not that that really matters since Sokka keeps talking anyway. "I used t', when I was a kid. I used t'pick out the brightest star I could find and pretend that it was my mom." Sokka spots a particularly radiant star off to his left and lets his eyes slide shut. "C'n I tell you a secret?" he murmurs drowsily, exhaustion already beginning to permeate his thoughts and threaten to drag him under, into the abyss of sleep. "S'mtimes . . . I still do."

". . . What do you wish for?" Zuko asks eventually, voice low and gentle, as if afraid to disrupt the tranquil ambience surrounding them.

"Mm," Sokka hums, letting the sound of the nearby fountain fill him with calm. "Jus' stuff."

Zuko softly prods Sokka with his elbow. "What kinda stuff?"

"You'll think I'm stupid."

"Yeah, I think it's a little too late for that."

"Jerkbender," Sokka giggles. He actually _giggles. _Sleepiness makes him do such unmanly things.

"Tell me."

Sokka turns his head to regard Zuko with lidded eyes. Zuko responds in kind with a raised eyebrow. "I dunno. Stuff like . . . like having my dad back home again instead of off fishing. But I'd always feel bad for those wishes so I stopped . . . S'mtimes I'd wish t'see you again after ya left to go to this Nati—Navi—whatever academy. I still can't pr'nounce that word," Sokka snickers, closing his eyes again. "But s'metimes I'd wish for food. If I'm hungry or . . . yeah, jus' hungry. And I once wished for a pet polar bear dog. Y'know, t'help me hunt 'n'—'n' stuff . . ."

Sokka continues listing off all the various wishes he's made over the course of his life but Zuko's mind has long since tuned him out and his brain has just kind of short-circuited. _T'see you again. _Sokka actually—he still—he wished to see _Zuko _again. Damn butterflies in Zuko's stomach just won't give it a rest when he's around Sokka.

". . . and a—an airplane, and . . . and . . ." Sokka's voice gradually trails off, soon replaced by the sound of his snoring.

Zuko doesn't bother going back to studying the night sky, a fond smile playing on his lips. Sokka's much more interesting to look at. How did Zuko ever even _consider _the thought that Sokka was some kind of ruthless, cold-blooded assassin? He might as well have started believing that pig deer can fly.

* * *

"I told you somebody was over here! My feet don't lie."

"Whose jacket is this?"

"Who cares, Sugar Queen? It's a jacket. I say we just get some peanuts and try to toss 'em into his mouth. Three points for each successful toss. I will totally kick ass at this game."

"I dunno, Toph. What if he chokes or something?"

"Aw, you're such a buzzkill, Twinkle Toes."

"I am not! I'm a buzz . . . reviver!"

"Yeeeaaah . . . that could use some work."

"Would you two stop bickering and help me wake my brother up already?"

"Look, it's no use, Sugar Queen."

"Yeah. Sokka's kind of like a zombie when he's asleep."

"I _know _that. He's my brother, of course I know that. But we can't just _leave _him here."

". . . I dunno. Leaving him here seems like a great idea. In fact, it'd be the only smart thing I've ever heard you say, Sugar Queen."

"I've had lots of great ideas!"

"Oh, that's a bullshit statement if I've ever heard one."

"You little—"

"You guys! It is _way _too early for you two to be fighting already. Maybe we should just get out of here before somebody shows up, okay?"

"Pfft. Booooo!"

"Oh, yeah, real mature, Toph." Sigh. "But you're right, Aang. We should get out of here."

"So . . . what're we gonna do about Snoozles?"

"Do ya think a splash of water might wake him up?"

"Hey, yeah. Sugar Queen, do your magic with that fountain water over there or something."

"Um, I guess I could give it a shot."

"Wait." Pause. "I think someone's coming."

"What? What, who? Who's coming? Why? Where? What's—"

"Pipe down, Twinkle Toes! You're gonna give us away!"

"Would you two get up? You look ridiculous. Nobody's coming."

"What're you talking about, Sugar Queen? Are you _blind?_ Actually, no, scratch that, just—Are you seriously questioning my earth-sight right now?"

"Hey. Isn't that Prince Zuko?"

"Exactly. A nobody."

"What? The Phoenix Prince? The hell is he doing here?"

"I dunno. Maybe we can go ask him."

"_What?! _Why would you want to talk to _that _jerk, Aang?"

"I dunno. He seems to already be heading this way."

"Oh, crap. Okay, never mind, we're hiding."

"I think he's already spotted us there, Sweetness."

"Hey, Zuko! Er, Prince. Zuko."

"Wha—" Unintelligible squeaky noises. "Damn it, Aang, get back here!"

"Um. Hi."

"What're you doing out here?"

"I . . . Why are your friends hiding behind the fountain?"

"Oh. We were, uh . . . just . . . playing hide-and-seek! Yeah!"

". . . At five in the morning?"

"Well, what are _you _doing out here at five in the morning?"

"Damn it, Sugar Queen! What happened to 'never mind, we're hiding now'?"

"Well, what happened to 'I think he's already spotted us there, Sweetness, dur dur dur'?"

"Was that an impression of me, Sweetness? I couldn't really tell since you sounded like a friggin' _hog monkey._"

"Well, then, I guess my impersonation was pretty spot-on."

Pause as Toph processes this. Then, "Hey!"

". . . Do they always fight like that?" Zuko inquires.

"Hehe." Aang rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah. But it's okay. They're still really great friends with each other."

"Your morning breath stinks worse than your earthbending!"

"Yeah, well, the scoreboard kinda says otherwise, now doesn't it?"

"You cheated last time!"

"Me? Cheat? _Please._ I could kick your ass while blindfolded!"

"You're _already _blind!"

"Exactly!"

"GRAH! _THAT DOESN'T EVEN MAKE SENSE!_"

"Yep," Aang says, rocking on the balls of his feet and grinning widely. "Great friends."

". . . Rrrrright." Zuko shakes his head. He didn't come here for this. He needs to just get out of here before somebody _else _sees him. He slants his eyes at Sokka, curled up in the fetal position with Zuko's jacket draped over him. He hasn't the slightest clue how Sokka can continue sleeping with all the screaming going on not five feet away. Damn idiot could probably sleep through the end of the world.

Zuko originally came here to get his jacket back but that's obviously not happening, not with these people here. These three don't know Zuko was here last night and he'd prefer to keep it that way.

"I need to go."

"Oh. But . . . didn't you just get here?"

Zuko just ignores the airbender and goes about making his hasty retreat—seriously, somebody is _bound _to come check out what all the shrieking is about and he does not want to be seen anywhere near this place when that time comes—but Aang stops him with a hand on his arm.

"Wait." Zuko bites his tongue to keep from snapping at the airbender. Spirits, if he'd just remembered to take his damn jacket with him when he went back to his room last night, he wouldn't be here right now. "You're friends with Sokka, aren't you, Prince Zuko?"

"I . . ." As if this whole situation wasn't bad enough, Zuko can just feel his cheeks flooding with heat. "I guess."

"Well . . . you can be friends with us too then, can't ya?"

Oh. Well, that was . . . unexpected. Zuko's eyebrows disappear under his shaggy bangs. "You . . . want to be my friend," he says dubiously, just to ensure that he heard the airbender right.

"Well, yeah!" Aang beams at him. The kid is so genuinely friendly that Zuko almost thinks he should be offended or something. "If Sokka's cool with you then why can't we be too?"

Zuko scoffs, eyes flickering momentarily to the two girls that have resorted to more physical means of resolving their dispute. "I think your girlfriend would say otherwise."

Well, at least now Zuko's not the only one who's blushing. "I—What? I—Haha, you—Who, Katara?" Aang laughs just a little too loudly. "She's not—We're not—Oh, you're a hoot, Prince Zuko! That—That is _huh-larious. _Me? And—And Katara? That's—She wouldn't—Unless you think she'd wanna—Not that I wanna! But not that—um—"

Zuko rolls his eyes. "Whatever. I'm leaving now."

Aang recovers from his little plight of awkward babbling just in time to catch a flash of red vanishing out of the clearing and slumps over with a sigh. Well, it was worth a shot. There's a whooshing, whistling noise accelerating towards him from behind and Aang ducks down to avoid being pulverized by a large chunk of earth.

"Sorry!" Toph calls out, but Aang gets the feeling that she doesn't really mean it.

"What in the world is all this racket about—oh. Oh, dear. Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, no. My garden. My _garden!_"

Aang spins on his heel to find the school gardener standing at the opening to the clearing, tufts of his gray hair fisted in his hands.

"MY GARDEN!"

"Pickles," Aang grumbles under his breath.

"You look a little thirsty, Toph! HOW 'BOUT A DRINK?"

"HA! That the best you got, Sugar Queen? Even your trash talk sucks!"

"MY _GARDEN!_"

* * *

"Staying out past curfew—"

"And ruining my beautiful garden!"

"—not to mention all the screaming—"

"And my gardens! Holes everywhere, water turning the dirt into mud—"

"Ahem."

"You good-for-nothin' kids oughta be exp—"

"_Ahem. _Mister . . . um . . ."

"Ren," the gardener growls, crossing his arms and glaring at the four students seated before the headmaster's desk as if on trial. Which they most undoubtedly are in his mind.

"Right, yes, Mr. Ren, I'm going to have to ask you to settle down and let me do my job, or excuse yourself from my office."

The gardener looks about to protest this, but ultimately decides to keep his mouth shut. Good. Sokka's sleep-addled mind can't handle much more loud noise.

Sokka slides lower in his chair and takes an inconspicuous whiff of Zuko's red jacket—and he knows it's Zuko's because nobody smells as good as this. Nobody. Sokka has no idea how he came to get Zuko's jacket but who the hell cares? He's never giving this back. Nor washing it. Ever.

"Miss Beifong here has been sent to my office more times than I care to count, but I would think that you two, at least, would have some sense in you," the headmaster says to Aang and Katara, disapproval etched on his face and coloring his tone. "I thought you'd learned your mistake from your previous visit to my office, Miss Katara."

Toph just smirks all smug-like as if she's proud of the fact that she spends seventy-two percent of her time in the headmaster's office, Aang ducks his head in chagrin, Katara just continues shooting her brother dirty looks, and Sokka is trying not to fall asleep again.

"And _you._"

Sokka jerks his head up. "Wha—huh, me? What 'bout me?" he slurs groggily.

"Ever since you came here you've been nothing but trouble!"

"Nothing but trouble!" the gardener echoes.

"Just because you are a personal guest of the Fire Lord does not mean you get to run amok like some kind of . . . _goat gorilla!_"

"Goat gorilla!"

"Why the Fire Lord wants you here is none of my business, but as long as you are in _my _school, you will follow _my _rules, do you understand, boy?"

"His school, his rules!"

"Will you _stop _repeating everything I say?!"

"Stop repeating everyth—er. Oh."

The headmaster sighs, planting his elbows on his desk and cradling his head in his hands. "I'm too old for this sh—"

"Great!" Toph pipes up with faux-cheer. Then her voice goes flat. "Can we leave now?"

"Fine. Yes. Go. But detention—for all of you, tomorrow, after classes are over, in my office."

The four students begin voicing their dissent but the headmaster isn't to be swayed by a bunch of whining, bratty children. So he waves them off while Sokka and Toph flip him the bird in their heads and Aang and Katara trudge out of the man's office with a resigned droop to their shoulders.

Once back out in the hallway and main lobby of the school, Sokka stretches, scratching absently at his belly.

"Who's hungry?" he says. The other three just groan and roll their eyes. "What?" he snaps defensively.

Toph begins heading to the training courtyard, muttering as she walks. "I'm gonna go kick some ass."

Katara begins storming off to the waterbender wing. "I need a shower. And then I'm gonna kick _your _ass, Sokka."

Aang, however, stays behind. "I'll go get some chow with you, Sokka."

Sokka smiles at Aang, slinging an arm around the airbender's shoulders. "Thanks, buddy."

"No problem," Aang chuckles, and the two of them head off to the cafeteria, the scent of bacon guiding their way.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Sooo . . . this site doesn't support the strikethrough format. That's a damn shame.**

**To substitute, I put brackets around words that're supposed to be struck through. Um. That's 'bout it.**

**Oh, and, uh, it's come to my attention that I may just have a thing for Sokka with his hair down. But c'mon. Can ya blame me? Anyways, just . . . thought I should tell you. Since that's gonna become a thing.**

**Damn it, I _swore _this A/N wouldn't be a long one . . .**

* * *

Sokka feels like he should be embarrassed about walking around with a toothbrush and a pile of dirty clothes in his arms, as well as a lost, confused expression on his face. But he can't be embarrassed. He's too busy being lost and confused.

He purses his lips. Seriously, this place should think about investing in some signs or something. Sokka doesn't know if he is literally the only person who ever gets lost around here or everybody else is just really good at hiding the fact that they're lost.

Sokka has spent ten minutes wandering through the waterbender wing already. And he's _still _here. Maybe he should've just stayed in his room after all. Running from Katara's water whip can't be any worse than getting lost in this school.

From what Sokka _has _been able to map out in his head, the school is at least three stories high—the ground floor is for the students, the second houses the uppity upperclassmen and faculty, and the third is for national leaders or royalty or . . . whatever. So Sokka just needs to find the stairs. He's done it before to get to Ozai's room so it can't be that hard, right?

_Wrong._

Sokka honestly cannot tell if his sense of direction is just shit or the school is changing on him. It's the latter. It has to be. He never got lost back home . . .

The waterbenders make up the west end of the school, the firebender wing is to the east, airbenders reside at the southwest corner, and the earthbender wing lies to the southeast. Then in the center of the first floor is where the eating areas are located; library's on the second floor. The front lobby and main offices are set in the north end of the school. So going there first would be the logical choice. If he could just remember _how _to get there.

Each wing is decorated somewhat formulaically with statues placed in the space between each door. Banners hang above these marble pieces, depicting their respective nations' insignias and colors. Sokka does recall the upper floors looking much fancier. But he doesn't _care. _He just wants to find Zuko's room.

Spirits, this can't be happening. It's like he turns a corner—more hallways! Turn another, there're the showers! Backtrack, and there's the west entrance to the school! But wait. There are the stairs! After mouthing a silent yes, Sokka dashes up the steps, doing a little happy jig when he gets to the middle landing before continuing upwards.

Okay. At least the upper floors are emptier. Still in the water wing though. Blue tapestries, koi fish, moon paintings. Yeah. This'll take a while.

* * *

Zuko wraps a towel around his waist as he snags another from his towel rack to dry his hair. He's not sure he wants to go to mixed bending practice today. Maybe he should try working on his swordsmanship. He has been neglecting his broadswords lately.

After returning the towel to its place on the rack, Zuko steps out of his personal bathroom into his bedroom, shaking out any excess water from his hair. He's rummaging through his wardrobe for something to wear, only to find that most of his clothes are stuffed inside his dirty laundry hamper.

Zuko steps back, scratching the back of his head. That's weird. He could swear that the maids had done his laundry just a few days ago.

_Knock knock._

Zuko starts slightly, head whipping to his bedroom door. It's still early—just five past seven. Who would be at his door? Not Azula, since she'd left not ten minutes ago for practice. Plus, she wouldn't use that door, she'd use the one connecting their rooms—and she never knocks. It can't be Father because if Father ever needs to talk to somebody, that person goes to _him, _not the other way around.

Now he can hear shouting on the other side, subdued by the thick walls of his room. Curious, Zuko pads his way to the bedroom door and flings it open.

"—all day to do this. All day."

"Sir, unless you have an appointment with His Royal Highness, then I cannot allow you to—"

"Pffft." Sokka cups his hands around his mouth, clothes and toothbrush balanced awkwardly in the crooks of his elbows. "Boo!"

"Really, sir, that is highly unnecessary—"

"Boo!" Sokka continues heckling, apparently still heedless of Zuko's presence. "You suck!"

"I will ask you kindly only one more time, _sir, _to keep your voice down lest you bother—"

"BOO!"

"That's it, ya little punk—"

"Oh! Oh, you wanna fight?" Sokka drops his possessions, hopping back. Then his body goes through a series of strange poses that he probably thinks look very martial arts-like and intimidating. "C'mon, I'll fight! And when your buddy gets back from his potty break, I'll take him on too!"

When the guard unsheathes his baton, Zuko deems this as good a time as any to step in and end this 'fight' before things get messy.

"It's okay," Zuko says, walking forward out of the doorway. "He's a friend."

Sokka, balanced on one foot with the other bent towards his body, looks to Zuko, obviously surprised, before toppling over.

The guard kneels before Zuko, eyes trained respectively on the floor. "Greetings, my lord."

"You may rise," Zuko orders. The man obeys, but he makes sure to not let his gaze wander any lower than the prince's neck.

"Your Highness, I was just—"

"Harassing a harmless, innocent guy!" Sokka finishes for the man, grabbing his stuff and climbing to his feet.

The guard whirls on Sokka, a sneer tugging at his lips. "You—"

"What? Me what? C'mon, say it," Sokka taunts, crossing his arms. Zuko cocks his head to the side. What in the world is Sokka carrying?

"Sokka," Zuko reprimands with a shake of his head. "Just let it go."

Sokka growls, still glowering at the guard.

Zuko rolls his eyes. "Would you get inside already?"

With a haughty harumph, Sokka turns on the balls of his feet and marches into Zuko's room. The guard seems about to say something but Zuko stops him with an upraised palm.

"I apologize for his behavior. He's a bit . . ." Zuko spares a look over his shoulder at Sokka standing awestruck in the middle of his room. ". . . eccentric."

The guard sighs after a moment. "No apology is needed, my lord. It's quite alright."

With a nod, Zuko steps back into his room and closes the door.

"Dude! _This _is your room?" Sokka twirls slowly to take it all in before facing Zuko again. "You lucky—uh."

Befuddled as to why Sokka has suddenly stopped talking, Zuko arches an eyebrow. ". . . What is it?"

"Work out much?"

Zuko glances down at his bare torso and flushes, feeling completely naked despite the towel around his waist. "Oh. Um, sorry."

"Oh, no, don't apologize," Sokka says, grinning wickedly. "Seriously. Don't."

Zuko rubs the back of his neck, and the redness in his face could probably rival that of a tomato's. "Shut up."

Sokka laughs suddenly, heading to Zuko's bathroom. "Calm down, I'm kidding," he calls over his shoulder. "Get dressed, I won't look," he promises as he steps inside and shuts the door.

While Zuko goes about doing just that, Sokka occupies himself with trying to get his Spirits damn mind out of the gutter. The last thing he needs is to make some unwanted pass at Zuko and have the guy running off screaming into the night. Or morning. Whatever.

Spirits, Sokka can't believe the guy's got a whole _bathroom _to himself. Sokka goes to sleep in that (admittedly not terrible but not exactly great) bunk bed in that tiny room with the single nightstand. The only decoration in there is the portrait of his family that Katara had brought with her all those years ago.

Zuko gets a _bathroom. _And a king-sized bed.

His shower looks so much cleaner than the shared ones. Maybe Sokka should've waited to come here before showering.

"I'm done!"

Running a hand through his still damp hair, Sokka steps out of the bathroom. He should be grateful that Zuko's got some clothes on now since the guy's naked upper body wasn't very conducive to Sokka's efforts of cleaning the gutters in his mind, but all he can feel is disappointed. To appease himself, Sokka takes the liberty of claiming Zuko's ginormous bed, diving into the cushiony fluffiness of the mattress.

Sokka mewls happily, dirty clothes and toothbrush tossed to the side. "Ohhh, this is good," he groans. "I could stay here forever," he sighs. When Zuko doesn't respond, Sokka cracks open an eyelid to find Zuko just standing at the foot of the bed, lips parted and eyes glazed over as he stares at Sokka. Frowning, Sokka gets on his knees and crawls towards Zuko to wave an arm in front of his face. "Hey!" Zuko jumps, seemingly snapping out of whatever trance he was in. "You okay?"

"Um. Yeah. Of course. S-Sorry."

Sokka mumbles a whatever, falling back onto the bed. Spirits, it's like a cloud. Not that Sokka knows what laying on a cloud feels like—that's not even possible. But if it were possible, this is what Sokka imagines it would feel like.

"Um, so, what're you doing here, Sokka?"

"Hiding."

The mattress dips down as Zuko settles on the corner of the bed, his legs criss-crossed. "Hiding?"

Sokka tilts his head back so that he's looking at Zuko upside down. "From my sister. I think she wants to kill me."

Zuko cracks a smile, leaning back against the bed's headboard. "Knowing you, you probably deserve it."

"Hey!" Sokka exclaims, rolling over onto his stomach and propping himself up on his elbows. "Whose side are you on here?"

Zuko just rolls his eyes. "Well, you can't stay here forever, Sokka."

"What? Aw, c'mon, Zuko!" Sokka pleads, eyes going all wide and vulnerable, lips doing that pouty thing he always does when he wants something. "My life lays in the balance here, Zuko, c'mon. Please? Pwetty please?"

Zuko seems to consider this for a moment before sighing, and Sokka knows he's won. "No."

Okay, so Sokka _didn't _just win.

"Jerkbender." Sokka drags himself to sit beside Zuko, pushing the pillows to the side.

"Idiot."

Sokka huffs, crossing his arms. "Just so y'know, when they find my head stuck on a stick out in the woods somewhere, it'll be on your conscience."

"Who's 'they'?"

"They! Y'know, the—the police or whatev—look, that's not the point!" Sokka throws his arms up, aggravated. "I'm dead in that scenario and you focus on the '_they'_?"

Zuko chuckles, bumping shoulders with Sokka. "That scenario could never happen. Because I wouldn't let anybody hurt you." Zuko abruptly clamps his mouth shut after the last word had slipped out of his mouth, as if shocked that he'd said that, as if afraid that he'd said too much.

Sokka kind of really wants to kiss Zuko stupid right now. But he doesn't. He just grins and says, "Same here, buddy." The smile he gets in return is more than enough to assuage him for the moment.

"You're wearing my jacket."

"Oh." Shit. Sokka knew he should've hidden it or something. "Um, yeah. Sorry, I don't—I didn't steal it or anything, it was just—"

"I know, Sokka," Zuko laughs, face coloring. "You looked cold last night, so I . . ."

Sokka ducks his head, his hair creating a curtain over his face. "Thanks."

"Yeah."

"So . . . did you . . . did you want it back?"

"No," Zuko replies immediately. "I—I mean, unless you wanna give it back. No, wait, that doesn't sound—I mean—"

"Stop," Sokka sniggers, turning to look at Zuko. "I'm . . . just . . . thank you. Again."

Zuko beams at him. "Anytime."

* * *

Sokka stares up at Zuko's bedroom ceiling, bored out of his mind. At least Zuko ultimately decided to let him stay here, not that Sokka's surprised. He likes to think he can be pretty persuasive when he wants to be.

But now he's bored. And not even just bored. This is more like gouge-his-eyes-out-with-a-spork kind of bored.

Sokka can't believe he's actually thinking this, but he could be in the library right now, studying up on souls and spirits and stuff. Perhaps he should just head on to the library anyway. That'd be the last place Katara would think to look for him, right? Like, c'mon, it's a room full of books and people who shush you when you so much as drop a pin. Not exactly his scene.

But what if Katara is anticipating for him to think exactly that and head to the library where she'll be waiting to ambush him? Unless she's anticipating that he's anticipating that she's anticipating that so—

GAH. Fuck it. Just—fuck it. His brain hurts.

Sokka slides off the bed and makes his way over to Zuko's dresser and stares at himself in the mirror. He pulls his eyelids upwards and sticks his tongue out. Then he pulls his eyes into slits and puckers up his lips.

This is what he's been reduced to for entertainment. Making stupid faces at himself in the mirror. Sokka huffs, pursing his lips. And then something catches his eye. It's a photograph, set inside a simple, golden picture frame.

He picks it up to better inspect the two people portrayed in it. There's little Zuko, sitting in front of a turtle duck pond and teeth bared in the biggest, happiest grin Sokka's ever seen on him—hell, on anyone. And beside him is somebody Sokka doesn't recognize, a woman. Her long, dark hair hangs loose down her back, almost touching the grass as she sits next to Zuko, an arm around his shoulders. She has gentle features and kind eyes, a fond smile playing on her lips as she stares at Zuko. The look in her eyes, captured so perfectly in this image, reminds Sokka of the way his own mom used to look at him and Katara.

Sokka sets the frame gently back down, and holy shit, why are his eyes leaking right now? Spirits, he can be such a girl sometimes. To distract himself, Sokka turns his attention to the dark, mahogany dresser. Can't go wrong with wood . . . or whatever. Right?

Of course, there's not . . . really . . . much to look at. It's a dresser, it's wooden, there's a mirror, and those are drawers.

Except . . . one of the drawers is cracked open, and Sokka can just make out a sheet of paper inside. With his name on it.

He shouldn't. He _really, _really shouldn't. It's an invasion of privacy!

But it's got _his _name on it. Literally.

Fuck. Sokka knows he's going to hate himself for the rest of his life for this. Eyes flickering periodically to the door as if afraid Zuko might appear at any minute, Sokka proceeds to tug open the drawer, revealing whole stacks of paper and envelopes. Um . . . he'll just start with the one on top.

Sokka flops back onto Zuko's bed, holding the paper above his face. It's . . . a letter. Addressed to Sokka. And it's a mess. The writing is somewhat childish and countless words and sentences have been scratched out, making it almost unreadable; the giant X over the whole thing sure isn't helping matters. Sokka squints, angling the paper differently as if that'll help make it more legible somehow.

_[Hey, Sokka]_

_[Dear Sok]_

_[Why am I so bad at writing letters?]_

_[Why am I still writing these th]_

_Sokka,_

_It's been a long time since [__I've seen you] [we've talked]_ _I left for the Nativitas Academy. [__Um,]_ _My mom is gone. She didn't die or anything, no matter what Azula says. She just left. That's all. [__But I just don't know who to talk to about th]_ _Even Uncle Iroh won't tell me what happened to my mom. I don't know if it's because he doesn't know what happened [__or because something bad really did happen to her]_ _or because of something else. [__I really wish I could talk to y]_

_Ever since Mom left, I think Father has gotten angrier. Azula says she doesn't notice anything different. She also doesn't really seem to care about what happened to Mom. [__I'm so scared and alone and I kinda miss]_

_[This is stupid]_

_[What am I doing?]_

_[I'm beginning to wish I'd never]_

Sokka gapes dumbfounded at the letter, heart aching. He jumps off the bed, rushing back over to the dresser and digging out every single letter he can find. His eyes scan through the words on each one, throat constricting more and more as they take him backwards through Zuko's life from the age of eleven to seven.

The oldest one is dated a week after he'd enrolled at this academy, and from then on he'd written a letter to Sokka every—damn—week. But as the years went by, they'd become less frequent—once every two weeks, then once a month, and finally, only once a year. Until he'd just stopped, completely, after his mom disappeared.

Sokka has no idea what to make of this. His head is spinning, his mouth is dry, and there's just this constant twinge in his chest that won't go away. Why didn't Zuko ever send these things? Why didn't he . . .

Sokka shakes his head. He can ask himself unanswerable questions later. Right now, he needs to put everything back the way he found it.

When Zuko returns from practice, Sokka is splayed out on the bed trying to act like he hadn't just spent the last half hour snooping through Zuko's personal stuff. "How was practice?" he asks casually.

"Fine," Zuko replies curtly.

Sokka frowns, pushing himself into a semi-sitting position. What's got _him _all grouchy? "Are you . . . okay?"

"Fine."

"Uh-huh. Right." Sokka rolls off the bed, going over to stand behind Zuko in front of his dresser mirror. "Stop lying to me."

"I'm not—"

"Yeah. You are." Sokka places his hands on Zuko's shoulders, ignoring the way he tenses up underneath Sokka's touch, and begins massaging him. Sokka's not sure if he's any good at this but he's had plenty of practice rubbing the kinks out of Gran-Gran's sore muscles every night before bed. So he's going to at least give himself _some _credit and say that he's not _terrible _at it.

"Sokka—"

"If the next words out of your mouth aren't an explanation as to why you're so pissy, then you're just gonna have to shut up and deal with me massaging the crap out of you."

"I'm not _pissy_—"

"Yeah. You are."

Zuko sighs exasperatedly, but Sokka can already feel him relaxing, so he's going to count that as a lose-win. Zuko doesn't say anything else, dropping his head, so Sokka's also going to just assume that he's okay with this.

"Hey," Sokka starts softly, hands slowly trailing down to the base of Zuko's spine, "you know you can tell me anything. Right?" Sokka slides his hands back up to Zuko's shoulders and repeats the process all over again, fingers kneading and applying increasingly more pressure each time.

Zuko remains silent, and Sokka wishes he could see Zuko's face, see what's going through his head right now. Sokka takes a step closer, hands coming to rest lightly on Zuko's waist.

"I know we're still just getting to know each other and whatever," Sokka says, staring intently at Zuko's reflection as if that'll somehow get him to respond, "but I . . ." Sokka exhales sharply, just so damn frustrated at himself because he can't find the right words to say what he wants to say.

So he doesn't say anything, just takes yet another step forward to rest his chin on Zuko's shoulder. This whole time, Zuko hasn't uttered a single sound, and the lack of noise is deafening to Sokka's ears.

And that's when Sokka notices it. It's not anything big, not really. But he notices it. Sokka knits his brow. He doesn't know much about bending, but what he does know is that practice is one helluva workout. So . . . why is Zuko dry?

Sokka buries a hand into Zuko's hair, the other one shoving itself up Zuko's shirt.

Zuko's head snaps up instantaneously. "Sokka," he chokes out, "what're you—"

"You're not sweaty."

"W-What?"

"_You're not sweaty,_" Sokka rehashes, pulling away.

Zuko twists around to face Sokka, bafflement clear on his face. "So what?"

"So you obviously didn't go to practice," Sokka surmises.

"What? Of course I—"

"_Again _with the lying," Sokka gripes. "Look, man, I'm not gonna get _mad _at you or anything—"

"Sokka, I'm not—"

"Okay, fine," Sokka accedes, palms up and eyebrows raised, "don't tell me. It's cool."

"Sokka—"

"Hey, everybody's got secrets," Sokka shrugs easily. He should know, after all. "I'm not gonna force you to tell me anything."

"I'm _not _lying."

"Okay, okay, I believe you," Sokka appeases, then smirks at Zuko. "So . . . are you talking to me again?"

Zuko folds his arms in front of his chest. "I was never not talking to you."

"You kinda were."

"I kinda _wasn't._"

"Were."

"Wasn't."

"_Were._"

"_W_—"

"Okay, look, stop. What're we, five? No, no," Sokka declares dramatically, beginning to pace the floor. "We need to settle this like men."

"Men?" Zuko parrots amusedly, leaning back against the dresser.

"Yes, men," Sokka confirms, a warmth blooming in his chest at the fact that Zuko's smiling again—the fact that _he's_ the one to make Zuko smile again. "We need to settle this," pause for effect, "with a pillow fight." Sokka's stomach growls. "After we fuel up with a hearty breakfast."

Zuko chuckles, shaking his head at Sokka. "Is food all you think about?"

Sokka turns to face Zuko, sending him a wink and a cryptic, "Not always."

Zuko gapes at him, face coloring.

"You are too easy, y'know that, Zuko?" Sokka cackles, hopping back onto the bed. "With the way you act, I'm beginning to think nobody's ever made a pass at you before."

Silence.

Sokka brings his head up, and now apparently it's his turn to gawk at Zuko. ". . . You're kidding me."

Zuko strikes a defensive stance, eyes guarded. "That's none of your business."

"Zuko," Sokka says, making an intrepid effort to keep from laughing, "are you telling me that nobody has _ever _hit on you? You've never had a girlfriend? A—A boyfriend? Nothing?"

The corners of Zuko's mouth turn down into a frown that Sokka is most definitely not thinking about kissing away. "I'm the Fire Nation Prince, Sokka," he says, as if that explains everything.

Sokka pushes himself up to sit in the center of the bed and pats the spot in front of him.

Zuko narrows his eyes. "What?"

"Spirits, Zuko, just get over here."

"Why?"

Sokka rolls his eyes. "I don't bite, I promise," he says, and waits until Zuko's settled down before him to add, "Unless you want me to."

Zuko groans, already making to get off the bed, but Sokka grabs his arm to drag him back down.

"I'm joking, I'm joking," he assures Zuko between giggles.

"You're laughing," Zuko mutters, but he stays on the bed.

"Yeah, that's kinda what you do when you're joking."

"I thought you were only supposed to laugh at funny jokes."

Sokka stares at Zuko for a moment before cracking a wide grin. "Where have you been hiding all this sass, Prince Zuko?" he says, getting a punch to the shoulder for his trouble. "_Ow, _ya jerkbender. Watch it, your punches actually hurt now, y'know."

Zuko raises an eyebrow. "Are you saying they didn't hurt before?"

"Well, you were kind of a skinny kid when you were sev—ow, _damn it, Zuko!_"

"What were you saying?"

"It's a compliment!"

"Really."

"Yes, _really._" Sokka rubs his arm, glouting at Zuko. "See, maybe _this _is why nobody wants to date you."

". . . Because I punch really hard?"

"_No,_" Sokka says, doing his best to sound irritated, "because you're a total jerkbender."

"O, wise relationship guru," Zuko says blandly, complete with a mock-bow, "please teach me your ways."

"Well, since you asked so kindly," Sokka says, playing along and ignoring the way Zuko rolls his eyes (seriously, don't his eyeballs ever get tired of doing that?). "Lesson number one: stop punching your best friend."

". . . That's what's going to get me a date?"

"Yes, aren't you paying attention?"

"Don't you think you're being a bit presumptuous by calling yourself my best friend?"

"What, you tellin' me I'm _not _your best friend?" Sokka scoffs, his light and playful tone belying the unmitigated dismay he's feeling inside. Sokka isn't sure how he'll react if Zuko actually does go and tell him that no, Sokka is not, in fact, Zuko's best friend. He thinks it'd be just a tiny bit heart-crushing. In a friendshippy, platonic sort of way.

"Okay."

Sokka blinks dumbly at Zuko for a second. "Okay . . . what?"

"Okay, what's the next lesson?"

If that's the best admission Sokka will ever get from Zuko, then he'll take it. It still manages to put a dopey grin on his face, so it's not _that _bad. "Lesson number two: get said best friend some food before he starves to—_ow._"

"Oops."

"No! No 'oops'ing! We literally _just _went through lesson number one, Zuko!"

"It must've slipped my mind."

"Ugh, this is—_you,_" Sokka stabs his finger through the air at Zuko, "are a terrible, terrible student."

"So I've been told."

Sokka stops short at this, at the flat and self-deprecating smile on Zuko's face. Something sticks out in his mind, something he'd read from one of Zuko's secret letters—_born lucky, lucky to be born, _something about . . . about Azula having learned more forms?

Should Sokka ask about it? But is bringing up the letters a good idea? They were obviously meant to remain private if Zuko never sent them, even if they were addressed to Sokka. Spirits, sometimes Sokka feels like he's treading on thin ice around Zuko and that just shouldn't _be _a feeling that he has. Not when he just established his best friend status.

Oh, yeah, going through Zuko's personal belongings, keeping secrets from him (about his father, no less)—Sokka's got a great track record as a friend.

"Sokka?"

"Huh? Oh. Sorry. I, uh . . ."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Just . . ."

"Hungry?"

Sokka tries for a smile. "You read my mind."

"Y'know, I'm starting to think that you're more trouble than you're worth."

"Well, I find that hard to believe considering how valuable I am."

Zuko huffs, "Now _that's _funny."

"I have a pillow, Zuko, and I am not afraid to use it."

Zuko ignores Sokka, walking to the door and opening it to speak to one of the guards on duty. "Have two breakfast t—"

"Three!" Sokka calls out gleefully.

"—_two _breakfast trays sent up here, please."

Sokka harumphs sullenly. Then he launches all the pillows he can find—and there are a _lot_—at Zuko. There's just something about dishing out justice in pillow avalanche form that leaves a person feeling deeply satiated. This is no exception. Until Zuko decides to retaliate.

But pillow fights are fun too so it's all good.

* * *

"Mm . . . Zuko, your bed and I are eloping."

"Oh, no. But then where will I sleep?"

Sokka chuckles languidly, head lolling to the side to look at Zuko laying right next to him. On either side of the bed are two windows, curtains pulled aside to bathe the room in rays of late morning sunlight. Two trays of empty plates and utensils lay abandoned on top of the dresser.

Sokka opens his mouth to retort, but is interrupted by the sound of a door opening.

"Zuzu, I need your—" Azula halts in her tracks when her eyes land on Sokka, and her mouth widens into a sickeningly sweet smile that Sokka doesn't buy for a single second. "Oh. Just the person I was looking for."

Sokka sits up, Zuko following suit, and quirks a dubious eyebrow. "Me? You're looking for _me?_"

Beside him, Zuko stiffens and narrows his eyes at his sister. "What do you want, Azula?"

"I just want to talk," she says, raising and dropping a slim shoulder in a sort of half-shrug.

"Then talk," Sokka says.

"In _private._"

After a moment of contemplation, Sokka decides . . . what the hell? He's kind of curious about what Azula wants to 'talk' about, and he's actually got some questions for her as well. "Oh, this'll be good," he grumbles under his breath.

"Sokka." Zuko grabs his arm. "Are you sure?"

Sokka smirks at him. "I can handle myself, don't worry."

"But—"

Sokka gently removes Zuko's hand. "I'll be fine," he tells him, then follows Azula into her room, kicking the door shut behind him.

It's definitely not what Sokka expected. The room is large—of course—and there's a giant bed covered by those sheer curtain thingies. Vanity dresser, walk-in closet, bathroom—it's all really nice. But at the same time, it's . . . cold. And clinical. There's nothing really _personal _about it—and that painting of the old man hanging above her bed—Fire Lord Azulon, Sokka guesses?—is more creepy than anything else.

The sooner he can get out of here, the better.

Sokka crosses his arms, stopping in the center of the room and waiting patiently for what Azula has to say. And waiting. Still waiting. Even more waiting. He isn't sure if they're having a staring contest or she's just been replaced by a very life-like mannequin. Seriously, she hasn't moved a muscle; it's unnerving.

Maybe she's just trying to see who'll crack first. Pffft. It sure as hell won't be Sokka. He's once made the mistake of insulting Gran-Gran's cooking, and he walked away from that experience a changed man. Nothing could ever compare to Gran-Gran's wrath, not the Fire Lord, and sure as hell not his daughter.

"I'll just get straight to the point," Azula says, and Sokka doesn't even bother trying to hide his triumphant smirk. "I don't want you anywhere near my brother. So you're going to stay away from him. Understand?"

Sokka scoffs, arching a challenging eyebrow. "Is that an order?"

Azula moves forward until the two of them are standing toe to toe. "As a matter of fact, it is."

"Why?"

"Why?" Azula repeats derisively. "Because your sole purpose in this school—in your entire _existence_—is to bring the Progenitor back. _Not _to worm your way under my brother's skin and turn him against his nation."

Sokka can't quite believe what he's hearing. "Is _that _what you think I'm doing? _Using _Zuko? If anybody's using him, it's _you _and your asshole fath—"

_SMACK._

Sokka's head jerks to the side from the force of the slap, cheek stinging and temper rising.

"Next time, it'll actually hurt," Azula says coolly.

Sokka flips his hair out of his face, fists clenching at his side. Then he sees what's hanging around her neck and he just sort of freezes.

This doesn't escape her attention. Azula fingers the charm delicately, eyes gleaming wickedly. "Do you like it?" she asks coyly.

"Where did you get that?" Sokka grates out, hands twitching to just yank the chain off and run.

"Oh, Father gave it to me," she tells him, manicured fingernails scratching across the surface of the crystal snowflake. "Beautiful, isn't it? Shame that it holds such . . . _filth _inside of it."

Sokka raises his eyes from the pendant to Azula's face. And then he smiles. "It's gorgeous." Sokka doesn't miss the surprise that flickers across her features before smoothing back over into something more stoic. "Now if you'll excuse me," Sokka says, about-facing, "I've got some things to take care of."

Well, that definitely wasn't expected.

Once back inside Zuko's much cheerier room, Sokka hastily grabs his possessions from Zuko's nightstand.

"Sokka—"

"I need to go, Zuko."

"What?" Zuko slips off his bed to stop Sokka from leaving. "What did she say to you?"

"Don't worry about it." Sokka wraps Zuko up in a tight, short hug.

"But—"

Sokka pulls back to hold Zuko at arm's length and flash him what he hopes is a convincing grin. "I'll see you later, 'kay?"

"But where are you—" The rest of Zuko's question is cut off by the door slamming shut.

* * *

Aang sits atop Appa's head, tossing an apple into the air, catching it, taking a bite, and repeating the process all over again. It's already nearing noon and Aang is feeling restless, except nobody seems to have the energy or the time to do anything with him. Everybody's either exhausted from practice or are slaving over textbooks and homework to catch up on their studies.

Maybe Aang should saddle Appa up and take him for a ride, let the bison stretch his muscles a bit. The monks aren't particularly busy on Sundays so one of them is bound to be able to accompany and supervise him.

"This is boring, Twinkle Toes."

Aang twists around to speak to Toph. "Well, what do you wanna do?"

"Psst!"

Aang blinks, head swiveling side to side. That wasn't Toph, he's looking right at her. "Hey, did you hear something?"

"I'm blind, not deaf."

"PSSST!"

Aang leans forward to peer over Appa's head. ". . . Sokka? Sokka!" Aang jumps down from Appa's head to land beside Sokka. "Where've you been?! Katara's been looking efeewomeunuhf—"

Sokka shushes Aang, hand still covering the airbender's mouth and eyes darting side to side. "Quiet down! Is Katara around?"

Aang shakes his head no. Why is Sokka carrying around a toothbrush?

"Where is she?"

"Mmffueffeffimf," Sokka removes his hand, "with Master Pakku."

"Who is it?" Toph calls from Appa's back.

"It's Sokka!"

"SHHH!"

"Oh, right," Aang amends himself. "It's Sokka," he whisper-shouts.

"Yeah, I heard ya the first time." Toph slides down to stand behind Sokka. "And where the hell have you been, Snoozles?"

"That's—It doesn't matter, okay?" Sokka grabs the two benders by the wrists and drags them over to duck under Appa's tail.

"This better be important, Snoozles. I don't stand in front of bison ass for just anybody, y'know."

"Keep your voice down!" Sokka hisses.

"WHY?" Toph inquires as loudly as possible. Sokka just about strangles her.

"I can't believe I'm asking _you _for help," Sokka grumbles.

"Well, what do you need help with?" Aang asks curiously.

Sokka takes in a deep breath of air, eyebrows drawn and mouth pinched into a little frown. "I'm gonna tell you guys something, and you're not gonna believe me."

"Great, then why even bother t—"

"It's about the Fire Lord."

This piques even Toph's interest and she folds her arms in front of her chest, bare foot tapping impatiently on the grass. "Well?"

"You guys can't tell Katara about this, okay? Nothing. Not one bit. Zero. Zilch. N—"

"Okay, we get it!"

Aang, however, has something to say about this. "But why not?"

"Look, it's—I'll explain everything to you. But you have to promise that all of this stays between us. Got it?"

"Look, are you gonna tell us or not, Snoozles?"

"Aang," Sokka implores, completely ignoring Toph. "Promise me."

Aang doesn't like keeping secrets, especially not from Katara. But if it's that important to Sokka . . . "Okay."

Sokka beams at him in relief. "Thanks, Aang, that—"

"If you tell me one thing."

Sokka shrewdly squinches his eyes at Aang. "What?" he asks, dragging the word out.

"Why are you carrying around a toothbrush?"

* * *

**A/N: Stuff happens next chapter! Oh, boy, oh, boy, oh, boy! Gee golly, I sure can't wait!**


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